Speak To Me Softly
by Ellielovesicecream
Summary: After the Long War one of the only questions that remained was "what had happened to Arya Stark?" A year later, upon a chance sighting, a girl is found and brought home, where she faces many trials- one being the handsome young man from her youth. Will he ever convince her to marry him? Will she fall for him? Will the Wolf Girl of the North ever find peace? Updates once a week!
1. Glimpsing a Ghost

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE/ GAME OF THRONES, NOT DO I PROFIT FROM THIS WORK  
Hello readers, I know you're probably thinking I've abandoned my other work, but I couldn't resist the temptation of starting a new story. I'm sure you have noticed that this one is NOT a Harry Potter one like usual, but as a nerd and resident bookworm, I am also a rabid fan of George R Martins A Song of Ice and Fire. This story will be pretty super long, and Gendrya is end game, so if you don't like it, there are lots of other wonderful places you can go to read fics that are ten times better than mine! Seriously, go, read them *urges you*. As always I am always open to constructive criticism, and if you have any ideas please feel free to let me know, but please be polite, as I won't tolerate any meanness. This fic is a mixture of the books and the tv series, so the timings and dates are not necessarily compliant to either, but it is relatively similar, mostly everything up until the beginning of this fic is the same as it normally would be. Any questions, please feel free to ask, and I will do my best to explain. As always, happy reading, I hope you enjoy STMS, Over and Out!**

Mickon grunted as he ran his sword through a Wildling's chest, closing his mouth as blood splattered his chin and neck, hot against the cold air. He pushed the twitching body off of his blade, barely noticing when it thudded softly into the snow, its brilliant red blood leaking into the sludge, before ducking, and running his sword through another's neck. The noise of the battle was deafening, a noise he had hoped never to hear again after the war. Despite the freezing cold, the air seemed to hang heavy with blood and sweat, smelling even worse due to the shit left behind as men died. Not that Mickon noticed it too much; he had grown accustomed to the stench.

Hastily he wiped sweat from his brow; the battle was ending, each side at an impasse- already some Wildlings were running off into the Haunted Forest, and some of the nightswatch men were retreating as well. He span around as a yell came from behind him, and lifted his sword, but relaxed when he realised it was not aimed at him; a wildling, smaller and more elegant than he had ever seen, danced around a black brother, almost as if playing a game with him, before ending his life swiftly with the smallest blade Mickon had ever seen. He watched almost mesmerised as this strange wildling cut down man after man. Surely it was no man under that grey cloak? Mickon had just raised his sword to go after the hooded killer, when the hood fell, to reveal long, thick, dark hair, and a strikingly beautiful face. He watched captivated as the girl, who was surely far too young to be there at all, whistled, and to his horror a huge, hulking Direwolf stalked from the forest, galloping to the girl, who ran at it in return, grabbing the fur of its ginormous neck and swinging herself up on it, as if it were a horse.

As she rode away, cutting down each Black brother in her way, and the battle slowed to a halt as both sides retreated, Mickon was struck with a sense of familiarity. Even at a distance she had looked somewhat familiar, and Mickon had only ever seen one other person call upon a Direwolf that way.

It was crazy to even think such a thing... she was supposed to be dead, after all. Besides, what would she be doing out here, beyond the wall? His mind reeled as he staggered back to the now opening tunnel to Castle Black. He would have to write to his old Lord Commander. If that girl was who he thought she was, then Arya Stark was finally found.

* * *

A pounding at the door roused Jon Snow in the middle of the night. Ghost growled in warning at the noise from where he lay by the fire; it was an unusually stormy night that night, and even though he had thick fur, Jon had invited his familiar into the warmth of the castle. Jon groaned, and wiped his hand roughly down his face. He hadn't slept well since he left Daenerys in Kings Landing three weeks past. He flipped the covers off of him, and went to the door, opening it tiredly.

"Yes?" He said, his voice slightly raspy, "What is it, Maester?" He asked, once he saw the kindly old Maester at the door. He clenched his jaw, praying that it was not unsavoury news about his intended. He was still uneasy about leaving her alone in Kings Landing, despite the fact that she had the best guard to keep her safe.

"I'm sorry to wake you, my Lord," the Maester said, "but the Lady Sansa insisted that it could not wait until morning." Jon frowned; his sister- or his cousin, rather- had become of the habit of staying up late. The news must be important, as she would usually just wait until morning.

"I'll be down momentarily," Jon said, as the master nodded and walked away. Jon closed the door, dressed hurriedly, and left for the small hall, Ghost trotting at his heels. His mind filled with all of the bad things it could be, otherwise she would not feel the need to summon him. Perhaps Bran had taken ill, or Daenerys had been attacked. Maybe the Iron Islands had taken up open rebellion as they had been threatening to do, or even the wildlings had somehow breached the Wall.

Jon had only just got Winterfell under control again, now that the army of the dead would not be a threat again for another thousand years. It had taken a lot of work, needing repair not only to the castle but the surrounding lands. His banner men would no doubt raise up arms against whatever the threat was for him, but most were still recovering, and not in any place to take on another rebellion.

He stalked through the doors into the meeting chamber, pushing them closed firmly behind him; Sansa was standing stiffly at the hearth, the fire in which lit the whole room. She turned around as she heard him enter, parchment clutched in her fists. Jon searched her face, and as surprised to see that instead of afraid or panicked, she seemed calm, and even slightly hopeful.

"Sansa," He greeted, as he moved to stand beside her, "What is it?" She did not reply, but to hand him the parchment. Jon took it, and turned to the fire to better read what he now recognised as a letter.

"Lord Snow,  
Castle Black continues to fight the wildlings as Lord Commander Hastings ordered, though many of the brothers are reluctant to fight those who once fought with us rather than against us. It was in one of these fights that something unusual happened, and I thought that you would want to hear as soon as possible.  
I believe I saw her, fighting with the wildlings. I couldn't be sure, but she looked familiar, and rode a grey Direwolf. If it is her then send us word on how to approach the issue. We know you have been searching relentlessly for her, but it seems that Arya Stark is not to be found south of the wall.  
Awaiting your reply,  
Mickon, Brother of the Nightswatch"

Jon could not think, his mind raging as he stared at the letter, reading it over and over again. His baby sister, running with the wildlings? Jon almost chuckled; it was so unexpected, so outrageous- so utterly Arya. Yet he didn't want to get his hopes up. In the midst of battle Mickon, one of his former brothers, could have easily mistaken some wildling girl for Jon's long missing sister.

"It's Arya, Jon," Sansa whispered. "They've found Arya." Jon closed his eyes and opened them, unable to believe what he had just read. He looked down at Sansa; she looked hopeful, if a little wary. This would not be the first time they had heard that someone had seen the mysterious Arya Stark. It had been eight years since she had gone missing at the age of eight- indeed, she had been missing since before Ned Stark was murdered all those years ago. Jon recalled the tale of how she had gone missing; she had been there at breakfast one morning, and had gone off to a dance lesson- though Jon had doubts about what she really did in those lessons- and hours later, several guards had been found dead, and Arya had fallen off the face of the earth.

Of course, tales had popped up about her a few times since then, but apart from then, people did a little double take when her name was mentioned. After all no one had seen her since she was a child; she would be six and ten now, almost a woman grown. No one could picture her face anymore, for when they did they saw her only as she had once been. Apart from one man, a man to whom Jon had become friends with...

Some of the stories that Jon had heard seemed crazy; stories of an orphaned boy called 'Arry, of being captured and taken to Harrenhal. Stories of a mouse, and a ghost, and a girl called Nan, with a strange alliance to a murderer; tales of Salty, Cat of the Canals, and Beth; tales of a girl called no one...  
Jon hoped that the stories behind these aliases were not true; to think of his baby sister living through all of that...

Jon's eyes snapped up to Sansa's; she looked hopeful as she awaited his response. He sighed, and rolled up the letter. "Sansa..." he began warily, not wanting to be the one to upset her, "I know how you feel, Gods know I feel the same... but you must know that it is not likely true." Sansa's face hardened at his words, and Jon forced himself to continue. "Sansa, how many false leads have there been? I hate to admit it, but the truth is that Arya Stark is nothing more than a name whispered around campfires. People barely remember her as a child, and Mickon never even met her-"

"Then what of the wolf, Jon?" Sansa interrupted. "He said a grey Direwolf- that has to be Nymeria!"

Jon swallowed; he couldn't deny her argument. "Sansa, the wildlings could have their own Direwolves by now, and many wolves are grey... it doesn't mean she is Nymeria. Besides, Nymeria disappeared years and years ago, before even Arya did."

"But it could be her," Sansa whispered. "It could be." She looked up, and Jon's stomach clenched to see tears in her eyes. "Please Jon, if there is any possibility, I beg of you... please, ride to Castle Black, and see for yourself." Jon sighed, and braced his hands against the mantle of the fireplace.

He knew he had no choice; if there as any chance that this girl was Arya, then Jon knew he had to go. He thought back almost a year, to a night so similar to this one.

It had been stormy, and Jon had been sat with Sansa in the exact room they were in now. The war had been over for only a few weeks, and people were still grieving their loved ones. Jon had indulged in wine, something he rarely did, and his mind had been hazy to the drink.

"At least we're all together now," Jon had said. "Rickon and Robb are at rest, and we are all home again."

Sansa had downed a glass of wine herself before speaking. "Not all of us, Jon," she said. "Or did you forget you had another sister?"

Jon had flinched at her words; it had hurt, mostly because in that moment, Jon HAD forgotten. There had never been closure on Arya, and Jon hadn't really known much about it when she went missing; Robb's death had been famous around the whole of Westeros, and he had seen Rickon's first hand. But Arya had never been reported dead; no one had really found out she was even missing until weeks after Ned Stark's death, as the Lannister's had kept it a secret, hoping to draw Robb in to save his sisters.

As much as he knew he shouldn't, Arya had always been his favourite sibling; whilst Robb had always been his friend, he never felt equal to him, and Robb knew it too. Sansa had always been cold towards him, even a little rude sometimes, at least until they were older. Bran was preoccupied with his own friends, and Rickon too young; Arya, however, had always loved him, and never treated him as beneath her as a bastard. Besides, while all of the other Stark children favoured their mother, with reddish hair and blue eyes, Arya had favoured her father, just as Jon had. Jon had even thought for a time that Arya might be a bastard too.

Jon was brought back to the present sharply when Sansa placed her hand gently on his arm. "Jon, I know you don't want to, I understand; the idea of getting there only to find that it isn't really her... it would rip you apart. I feel the same. But if it could be her, if there is even a small chance that our sister is out there, alone... shouldn't we go to her?"

Jon stared into her sapphire eyes, and sighed. "Of course I will go to her, Sansa. I couldn't not. But don't get your hopes up. And if it isn't her... I don't think I can keep searching for a girl who died eight years ago. If this isn't her, then we will put a few of her possessions in place of her body down in the crypts. I can't keep looking for her only to be reminded of how she was taken from us." Sansa stared into his eyes, and nodded.

* * *

Many miles south, Gendry Baratheon took his first view of his ancestral home; the great fortress of Storm's End was situated near the cliff overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, and from atop the surrounding mountains Gendry could see just why it was named such; the sea crashed into the rocks violently, and Gendry was sure he could see a storm rolling in luminously. He had heard of the magnificent storms in the area, only made worse by the heat there, and how people frequently caught ill from wearing sodden clothes, unbothered due to the warmth, quite forgetting the dangers of wearing soaking garments.

Despite having grown up in the slums of Kings Landing, where rain was such a rarity that small children grew quite excited by the notion, Gendry was well accustomed to the perils of wet clothes, having spent the last eight years of his life either on the run or travelling. It had been quite the surprise to hear of his real inheritance, and Gendry was still unsure as to how he felt about it. While he knew he was a good leader, Gendry had missed out on lessons on how to run a castle and its surrounding lands- and Storm's End's surrounding lands were immense; rather like he was.

Gendry had heard tale of how large Robert Baratheon had been in his prime, standing at well over six foot tall, and strong enough to wield a war hammer with ease- yet it seemed his son had surpassed him, standing at seven feet of pure strength and muscle from blacksmithing and fighting. He kept his jet black wavy hair shorter than most, but long enough that it hung in his brilliant blue eyes, and instead of the fancy cloaks and outfits most Lords wore in the South, Gendry preferred britches and leather.

"Are you pleased, m'Lord?" Teased Anguy the Archer from his side. Gendry huffed out a snort.

"Well, it's better than anything I ever had before," he joked, referring to years spent camping outside, and before that a blanket on the floor of a black smiths. But despite his joking, Gendry still couldn't believe his lot- this kind of thing simply didn't happen to people like him. He had already been drilled on the expectations, and the first thing on his list was not something he was looking forward to; a bride.

Gendry was not inexperienced when it came to physical love, but what with constant fighting and war Gendry had never really thought about it, not since... no, he would not think of her. She was dead, and thinking of her would only hurt him, and drive him to drink.

Yet Gendry understood his duty; after all, he would need to have someone to leave in charge when he was away, and he must have heirs to continue the line. Besides, as a new Lord, just raised from being a bastard, many other Lords were going to need to see that he could be just as good as they were at ruling a castle; he would need to form alliances as soon as possible, and the best way to do that was to take a wife. But still. He didn't have to look forward to it.

* * *

Lord Commander Hastings looked up as a man he recognised as Mickon stepped into his office. He expected that it was news on the wildlings, either that they were attacking, or that they were preparing to attack. It seemed non stop these days, and he missed the days when Mormont was in charge, and the work was somewhat less life risking. Life had been easier then.

"Yes, Mickon, what is it?" he asked warily, standing from his chair.

"A raven, Lord Commander," Mickon said. "From Winterfell."

Hastings looked up at that, surprised; whilst he was aware that word had been sent to Jon Snow- or rather, Jon Targaryen- pertaining the suspected appearance of Arya Stark, he had not expected Jon to reply with such haste. He held out his hand and took the parchment, reading the letter carefully.

He looked up to Mickon, who looked on with interest.

"It appears our old Lord Commander is coming to visit."


	2. A Walk into the Past

**DISCLAIMER: Still don't own it  
Alright Readers, if you are here reading the second chapter it means you stuck with the story. Admittedly it will be a little slow on the go to begin with, but once we move past all of the explanations it will move a bit faster, if you can just stick with it. Oh, and my laptop is having a bit of a hissy fit, so if you spot some words that are missing a "W" its because the key on my keyboard is broken. I know that it's annoying, but there's not a huge amount I can do about it without buying a new laptop, which I can't do seeing as I'm skint as hell. Anyway, happy reading my dudes, Over and Out.**

Castle Black loomed ominously overhead, looking exactly the same as it had when Jon had left. He remembered the first time he had looked upon the castle, eight years ago, excited to become a man of the Nights Watch, and filled with an odd mixture of joy, nerves, and disappointment. He had spent his whole life awaiting the chance to join, and while the castle was undeniably impressive, it felt somewhat anticlimactic.

Riding up to the gates once more, Jon was filled with the same mixture of emotions, adding apprehension to the list. He had written weeks ago to say he would come to see if the story was true, and here he was.

The gates opened, and Jon rode through before dismounting, and looking around. It was exactly the same as last time. Trainee's sparring in the yard, squires hurrying around their business, the smith banging out a rough sword. Jon was unsure as to how he felt about being here, but he pushed it out of his mind. He had a job to do.

A squire took his horse, and offered to take him to the Lord Commanders office, but Jon declined; after all, it had been his office not so long ago. As he walked through the courtyard he became increasingly aware of the stares and mutterings surrounding him. "Look, it's Lord Snow," and "Is he here for Arya Stark?" and "Didn't you know he was Lord Commander here once?" And worst of all "Did you hear how he was killed, and brought back to life by a witch?" Jon recognised few of the faces. He supposed that by their standards, he was old news now. There had been three Lord Commanders since his time now, one of them his good friend Edd. He had died in the war, holding off the army of the dead.

Jon fought not to shudder as he walked the steps to Hastings office, steps he had treaded so many times in another lifetime. This place brought up many memories, a mixture of good and bad. Jon was unsure as to whether it was comforting to be back there, or if he wanted to get back on his horse and gallop away as fast as he could.

Forgetting to knock, so mixed up in his thoughts as he was, Jon entered the room, trying hard not to remember everything that had happened there.

"Lord Snow- or is it Targaryen now?" came a voice from the corner of the room. Hastings was pouring a glass of- well, Jon still wasn't exactly sure what it was. The Lord Commander crossed the room and handed the glass to Jon; he was a tall man, though Jon as perhaps an inch taller, with an auburn beard, and brown eyes; Jon guessed he was from Tully lands, but he wasn't sure.

"Snow is fine," he replied, nodding his head in thanks for the drink. Unsure what else to say, Jon got straight to business.

"Lord Commander," He began, "I received your letter explaining that one of your men may have seen my sister with the wildlings. I apologise to cut to the chase so quickly, but... my sister Sansa, and I, we have to know- is it possible that it is her?" He asked, looking into the new commanders eyes imploringly.

Hastings sighed, and sat down at the desk that Jon had occupied so many times. "It is not unheard of for people to occasionally join the free folk. But it is rare. More so for women, and high born Ladies to do so. But," he continued, "it is possible. I was at a different forte at the time, but I have heard of how you were close to going rogue once yourself." Jon dipped his head in assent.

"If it is true that it could be Arya, then I would like to go beyond the wall myself to fetch her," Jon said, refusing to entertain the thought of sitting here at his past home, while other people went and hunted her, when they knew nothing about her. "I won't need many men, just a few. I would even go alone, Gods know I have before, but I couldn't risk it now, not with my family to protect at home."

There was a time when Jon did tread the land beyond the wall alone. He preferred it, in a way, to being surrounded by the moaning and groaning of the other brothers who didn't really want to be there. He could understand the free folks attraction to the place- it was so unrestricted, so free. Just him alone, for miles and miles, surrounded by mountains, forests and ice.

Hastings nodded slowly. "Well," he said, rubbing his jaw, "there is a scouting party going out there tomorrow morn'. Just the usual rounds. But you are welcome to go with them, to look for your sister. "

Jon nodded. "Thank you, Lord Commander, I shall. If I may stay here tonight I would be very grateful; the inn down the way appeared full when I passed on my way here." In truth Jon would have been more comfortable staying at the inn there rather than at Castle Black, where every shadow, every crevice, held an unsettling memory.

The new Commander smiled. "Of course, Lord Snow. This castle is hardly full; if you'll excuse me I won't show you where to go, seeing as you know your way around anyhow. I'll be leaving later, to deal with some prisoners down at Flints Finger, and most like won't be back for nigh on eleven week." He flashed Jon a grimace. "New recruits, you see."

Jon smiled. He remembered only too well the exasperation Mormont had felt when dealing with the issue. "Of course, Commander Hastings. I wish you good luck with them."

Jon felt an odd sense of deja vu at the loud roaring of the iron gate; how many times had he heard it before? He had not slept well that night, plagued by memories of the five years he had lived there, yet somehow, getting ready to go beyond the wall, he felt more alive than he had for a long time. He remembered the excitement he had felt at the prospect of venturing out beyond the wall for the first time, and part of him felt it once more.

As the group of rangers stepped onto the icy plain that backed onto White Tree and the Haunted Forest, Jon took his first deep breath of true Northern air in a long time; it was only now that he realised with a pang how much he had missed this. Towards the end of his time at Castle Black everything had seemed such a chore, every outing past the Wall with a specific task in mind. But before the true dangers had become evident, the land of always winter had been the only place Jon felt free. Despite having only moved from one side of the wall to the other, the air already smelt fresher, the snow seemed colder, and the whole atmosphere felt wild and dangerous, yet somehow oddly calming.

Jon barely recognised most of the rangers now; so many of his friends had died in the war, Castle Black having been the last castle on the wall to stand. The Nightforte was first to fall, where they wall had fallen first, then Icemark and Stonedoor. The other fortresses occupants fled to Castle Black, to rally against the army of the dead. Jon had been readying men at Last Hearth when it fell, but afterwards he had heard that the Nightswatch had never had a chance, making one final stance against the winter that Starks had been predicting for thousands of years: Winter Is Coming. And winter had come.

Among the new rangers Jon saw two boys from a farmstead near Winterfell; they couldn't be more than seventeen. They must have volunteered, Jon thought as they battled through the thick, heavy snow. He remembered their father, he was a good man, honest, and Jon doubted that the boys had been forced into the Nightswatch for crime.

The band trudged on, the majority of the rangers relaxed, unburdened by memories of the things that had once dwelled in the forest. Their aim was to get to Craster's Keep before nightfall; the keep had been long abandoned now. Jon wondered what had happened to all of Craster's daughters- had they fled while they still had the chance, or had they perished there? Whilst he knew that the keep was empty, as rangers had been out since the war ended, Jon couldn't help but expect to find the miserable old keep as he had known it, full of terrified women, with Craster sneering from his chair in front of the fire while his daughters did all of the work. It was hard to imagine that those scared women had probably died, before becoming one of the army of the dead themselves; maybe he had even fought one himself.

But when they arrived, despite the way Jon had pictured it, the keep was empty, and he felt somewhat disturbed to see it that way. Whilst it had never been a very nice place it was now far worse, for Jon couldn't help but imagine it as it once had been. So many memories in such a small place.  
Night fell quickly, and the rangers scurried to get everything ready for the night before it became too dark. Jon only remembered too well how it felt, to be desperate to have the fires lit and the food cooking before darkness came, and danger with it.

Gendry sighed as he slumped into his chair in a small chamber, the fires lit and roaring, a jug of ale atop the table. Since his arrival at Storm's End he had barely had a second of peace. He had hoped that he would find his lands in a reasonable state, knowing from his brief lessons on the journey that the southern soil was rich and fertile, that the sea reaped many fish, and the plentiful woods burst with game. Yet straight upon arrival he had learned that a raiding party had attacked the villages at the edges of his land, bordering Boneway. Immediately he had raised his men and gone to find the bandits, only to find that they had left upon hearing of his arrival. As it turned out Storm's End had been under the control of raiders, bandits and highwaymen since Renly Baratheon had died, almost seven years ago. The villages had been looted, farmsteads razed to the ground. The fortress itself had been untouched and uncared for for a long time, and Gendry already had his best workers out rebuilding the farms; with no farms, there was no food or income. Luckily the damage was minimal, as the fortress was made of stone with walls that were twenty feet wide in places; hopefully once the place was cleaned up a bit it would be as good as new.

Gendry had spent the last few weeks riding out with his men, familiarizing himself with the land and the people; his land was extensive, the border reaching from the river Wyl to the south edge of his land to the Cockleswent Ford in the west, stretching on past Grassyvale and ending on the southern side of Wendwater. His father had left quite the shoes to fill for an armorers apprentice, who had grown up sleeping in a backroom of a forge.

On his trips Gendry had been impressed by his people; despite the neglect that they had faced in a Lords absence they had battled with what they had, getting on with what they could. At first they had seemed apprehensive of him, as he rode through the villages on his enormous destrier, Reaper, sword at hip. Yet once he had spoken to them they seemed more at ease, accepting his help to rebuild farms. On one occasion three men had been struggling to lift a beam, and Gendry had simply hitched it over one strong shoulder, swinging it until it rested heavily across both shoulders, before carrying it towards the barn. He soon became the person that the people would go to with heavy poles and beams, and he was always happy to help; some of the younger children would jump up, swinging on the ends of the beams laughing. Gendry liked to see the children playing in the countryside; growing up in the Street of Steel as an apprentice, Gendry had never really had time to play, and the children who could were confined to stinking alleyways and cramped buildings; they made do with what they had, and seeing as they never knew any different they were happy enough- but these children in the countryside displayed more freedom and ease, even if when they were a bit older they would be working harder.

Whilst there was admittedly a lot of work to do in the coming months, Gendry had to admit that the Stormlands were extraordinary; surrounded by hills, plains and vast woodlands, overlooking cliffs, beaches and the vicious narrow sea. During the war Gendry had travelled all over Westeros, even venturing beyond the Wall, and while he found the North wild, free, uncontained and stunning, he felt that he belonged in the south, in the heat and the lush fields rather than the never ending expanse of snowy hills and silent forests.

Gendry was brought out of his thoughts as the door opened to the chamber- Harwin entered smoothly, hanging his heavy riding cloak over a chair near the door.

"Thought I'd come and keep m'Lord company," he said, smiling teasingly at the idea of Gendry being his lord. Most of the surviving brotherhood had followed Gendry to Storm's End, with Harwin, Anguy, Lem lemon cloak, and Tom'o'seven being among his closest advisers. Some time after SHE had disappeared, the Brotherhood had been in dire need of gold, gold that they would have gotten if she hadn't gone missing. Because they couldn't earn any money from her, Beric and Thoros had sold Gendry to the Red Woman, the witch Melisandre. When they reunited later on Gendry had been furious at them for the betrayal, but in time was able to forgive them. After all, she had been the one they held captive; he was there by choice, and they had even knighted him- before they sold him. Gendry had made himself get on with them though- anyway, it had been HER they held hostage, and she hadn't thrown a tantrum.

Well, Gendry did remember that she wasn't too happy about it, but then, who would be? So far he had been unable to ask about her, unable to hear what had happened; that night, the night she had disappeared, Gendry had gotten very drunk, just like his father used to. Gendry had downed pint after pint, and when he woke in the morning, he remembered nothing, and couldn't bear to ask what had happened to her. He hadn't been able to think of what might have happened, and any time he did, it was with ale in front of him. Which became often. Still, Gendry never asked, and no one ever told him, sensing that he wasn't ready to know. But perhaps now he was. He had heard the tales of course; she was one of those people who had been so forgotten that they became famous when people finally remembered her. The stories weren't nice though, and Gendry had been unable to ask in fear that they were true. But it was time, now. He had been unable to stop thinking about her, and it seemed she had fallen off of the edge of the world.

Harwin gave him an odd look as he sat down, when he didn't reply. He sighed and rubbed his jaw. "Right, tell me what's wrong will you," he groaned. "You've been down like this for weeks, you should be bloody happy seeing as you just moved into your castle."

Gendry turned his eyes away from the fire and onto Harwin's face, only a few years older than his own. "What happened to her?" He asked, sure that Harwin would understand. He couldn't say her name, not just yet.

Harwin sighed, and his mouth turned down at the corners slightly, as he shifted his brown eyes to the fire. "Lad- I know it's not what you want to hear, but there's not an awful lot to say."

"What happened to her?" Gendry repeated, his voice hard.

Harwin swallowed, hesitating slightly before he spoke. "It wasn't long after you became a knight for us, Gendry." When Gendry opened his mouth to argue, Harwin held up his hand. "I know you didn't do it to hurt her, lad, but she was angry. Furious actually, at Beric and Thoros. Refused to speak to anyone. You remember how she used to try and ride off and away, trying to escape?" Gendry nodded. "You remember how I had to threaten the little shit that I would chuck her over my horses withers with her arse in the air to stop her?" Gendry didn't laugh, and Harwin cleared his throat and continued.  
"Well she tried that a few more times, and in the end we had to double her up with someone at all times. Then one day, Thoros saw in the flames that her uncle was at siege and that we couldn't get to her family to ransom her to them, and as her uncle couldn't take her now either, we had nothing to do with her.  
"That night she heard Thoros and Beric talking, saying that we would keep her until word got out we had her, and then she would go to the highest bidder. She was furious, and she ran into the dark." He said with a sigh. "We searched for her for hours, you especially, but she was gone, nowhere to be found. Then of course years and years later we met the Hound, and found out what happened to her."

He stopped and Gendry signalled for him to continue. "Well, he told us how he caught her the very night we lost her, took her captive. He kept her tied up to stop her getting away or killing him in his sleep- you remember how she hated him, for killing that butchers boy?" Gendry grunted. "Well, he took her to her brothers wedding at the Twins, hoped to ransom her off, get the money we owed him. But you know what happened at the Red Wedding."

For a second Gendry went stone cold; surely she didn't die THERE? Of all the ways to go, Gendry did not envy Robb Stark. The idea that she might have been there...

Harwin continued and Gendry let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "Well the Hound got her out of there, and took her to her aunt in the Eyrie, but turns out she was dead too. Then they were interrupted by Brienne of Tarth, who severely injured Clegane, and as he lay injured after falling off a cliff edge, she left. No one has seen her since," Harwin finished, looking grave and drawn. "The idea that it was our fault if she's..." he didn't finish, but Gendry understood.

Gendry couldn't say anything, couldn't think. After all those years of waiting, not knowing what had happened to her, and this was it? He had hoped for more, hoped that someone had been able to piece the tale together, but it appeared that Arya Stark weaved a path so complex that she was forever lost.

Jon twitched his hand towards his sword as a branch snapped in the woods. The others

were mostly asleep, but Jon could not find rest in this place. Besides, the thought that his little sister might be somewhere near... he would never have slept anyway. The branch snapped again, and Jon got to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Something was wrong, he could feel it; not just reflexes as a result of war, but the hairs stood up on the back of his neck; there was something moving out there. Ghost drifted silently to Jon's side, and crept out the door, his ears pricked forward, and lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Jon hesitated; the first rule of being a ranger was to never leave the group, especially after dark. But then, Jon wasn't a ranger anymore, and so he crept out of the door, holding a torch out in front of him.

Ghost had disappeared into the darkness, and Jon found himself alone, surrounded by the pattering of snow as it fell from tree branches up high. Another twig snapped, and this time Jon heard an expletive muttered under someone's breath. There IS someone out here, he thought, but how many? Jon went back to the keep, and roused a few people.

"There's something out there," he told them, just as there was a bang. The group made their way outside, to see a single bush had been set aflame, casting an eerie glow over the camp.

"M'Lord, stay here," one of the rangers said, pulling out his sword. Jon made to argue, but the ranger shot him down. "No- you're here for your sister, you should stay here. It's probably just a couple of wildlings having fun. We three will go out and see what we find," he finished.

Jon watched them go out into the dark, and waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty minutes later, Jon walked into the keep again, and woke a few others, who followed him out into the dark. Just as they neared the flaming bush, there as a terrifying scream from the trees, followed by another. Then again, but from the opposite side of the keep.

"Someone's playing games with us," one said, "They are too cowardly to attack us, they just want us to keep sending off small groups to the slaughter. We'll stay here; if they were going to attack us then they would have already."

Just as the words came out of his mouth a second bush, scarily close to them, burst into flames. Jon strode over, but there was no one there. Just as he turned to say that they should wake the others up, there was a yell, and out from the trees charged free folk, their crude weapons held high, mouths pulled back into snarls.

"WILDLINGS!" Jon yelled to Craster's Keep, as the wildlings charged forward. Jon fullyunsheathed his sword, just as the other rangers piled out in a frenzy. While the Rangers had been unprepared, the wildlings lacked order or control, and straight away the fight seemed even. Jon raised his sword just in time to block an attack, before swinging around and catching the wildling across the cheek with the edge of his blade, and plunging his sword into their chest.

More wildlings emerged from the trees, and Jon was not surprised; there was a full scale rebellion, of course they couldn't just waltz into Craster's keep and not expect to be attacked. The free folk had probably had someone tailing them all day, and figured they would be staying at the old stead.

However, to Jon's surprise the attack did not last long; the wildlings began to run back to the trees and the cover of darkness. Assuming the Free Folk were fleeing, the new inexperienced rangers gave chase. But Jon was uneasy- what as the point of the wildlings launching an attack and losing their numbers, just to run after ten minutes of fighting?

"No," Jon hissed. "NO!" He shouted. "IT'S A TRAP!" They WANTED the rangers to follow them; they knew the ground well, maybe had more people waiting somewhere in the darkness.

Jon made to yell after the others, when there was movement from his left, and he span around- a wildling had a blade drawn already, and Jon barely raised his own in time to block it, stumbling when the wildling seemed to brush it aside effortlessly, and come at him again. Jon thrust his sword out in front, hoping to catch the person, who span away gracefully. Jon watched as the tiny frame span, their sword flying out, and Jon barely blocked it in time. Moving quickly the wildling whipped their sword across, and caught him across the face with the blade, cutting his cheek. Jon growled and blocked the next attack, sending a barrage of aggressive assaults, spinning, kicking and hacking at the wildling, who managed to dodge his Longclaw every time, and send back attacks of their own. In the distance Jon could hear the battle in the forest, and renewed his efforts against this odd wildling.

Out of nowhere there was a snarl, and Jon just saw a hulking mass of grey fur leap at him. He closed his eyes, bringing up his sword to strike the animal, but before he could Ghost appeared from nowhere, slamming into the other wolf. A vicious fight brought out, the noise of the two wolves tremendous. Jon yelled in fury and turned to the wildling, raising his sword- but so quickly he barely caught it, the wildling seemed to use their own blade to twist his away, the sword flipping from his hand and landing in the snow. Jon made to grab it, but the wildlings tiny blade was at his throat, the cold steel biting the skin of his neck.

Jon let out a tense breath, staring into the wildlings covered face. Ghost and the other wolf were at an impasse, snarling, and circling. Jon moved his gaze back to the other wolf. It was huge, as big as Ghost was, but with rougher grey fur flecked with black and white, its face meaner, and more savage. Jon's breath hitched as the wolf stalked towards the wildling, but not because of the sword at his throat. He knew that wolf.

It was Nymeria.

Very slowly, and nonthreatening, Jon raised one of his hands, reaching forward towards the wildlings hood, unable to breathe. The wildling flinched, and then stilled, allowing Jon to grasp the hood in his fist, and pull it away.

The wildling was tiny, maybe five foot two or three, with long, thick dark hair, in a messy braid. Though it was hard to tell in the dim light cast by the torches, flaming from the keep, the person, obviously female, had a thin face, with a slightly pointed chin, and high cheekbones. She had a button nose, that turned up slightly at the end, and full lips, currently pulled back into a snarl, her white teeth glinting dangerously in the orange glow. Her eyes were big, the shape of perfect almonds, the same colour of grey as his.

Jon let out a shaky breath. "Arya," He whispered, his hand shaking slightly, as he let go of her hood in shock.

She looked surprised, for a second, and then for a fleeting moment, fearful. "...Jon?" She whispered, sucking in a breath.

She lowered her sword, and Jon let out a deep breath, but as he moved to hold her tight, and never let go, she span suddenly, leaping fluidly onto Nymeria's back, who darted off into the trees silently, disappearing into the night.

Jon fell to his knees beside his sword, as Ghost howled for his long lost sister.


	3. The Chase

**DISCLAIMER: Still don't own anything lmao. If I did I would drop out of school. Actually that's a lie, but you get the idea.  
Alright my dudes, glad you've got as far as the third chapter. I think. I've lost count. Not got a huge amount to say this time, just hope you enjoy this chapter. Had quite a jolly writing Arya in this chapter, she's a fun character to write. A little OOC in this chapter, but as we move forward with the story she'll become more like the Arya we all know and love. That's all I have to say, as always let me know what you think, Over and Out xx**

Jon didn't know how long he had knelt there in the snow, staring into the dark after his sister; it could have been seconds, minutes, hours. He had seen her. She had been right there, right next to him, flesh and blood. Not just some hallucination, or dream, not some tavern wenches daughter dressed up, pretending to be the long lost younger daughter of Eddard Stark. It had really been her.

Jon had been so sure that he would never find her, dreading returning to Sansa and telling her that Arya had not been there. How many times had he heard wind of Arya Stark being somewhere, and chased after the tale, only find it was a dead end? He had told himself that this would be the last time, having believed he would never find her.

But he had.

She was there, in the North, living as one of the Free Folk. What had happened, to force her to take such drastic action? He had never considered that his wild baby sister would have found refuge with the wildlings, living beyond the wall all this time. But had she? He hadn't seen her when he infiltrated Mance Raydars camp, or any other time. Perhaps she had been living, all alone in a cave somewhere, with no company save for Nymeria.

But she didn't have to now. She could come back to Winterfell, and be with her family, be with Sansa, and Bran, and... Why had she run, once she saw who he was? Jon frowned. She had no reason to run, even if she felt threatened, her sword had been at his throat, she had won... how had she won? Jon wasn't cocky, but he knew that he was one of the best swordsmen in Westeros, so how had his tiny sister beaten him? By all rights he should have won on size and strength alone, let alone the fact he had been training and fighting since he was a boy. Yet somehow, she had danced around his sword, disarmed him, and won. She could have killed him, and Jon was sure that she would have, if she had not recognised him.

But she HAD recognised him. And she ran away. Jon didn't understand, but he couldn't let her go, he couldn't just let her leave, now that he had found her. Jon jumped up out of the snow, grabbing his sword. Arya had ridden away on her wolf, but whilst the dire wolves were huge, Arya was tiny, and Jon was probably too large to sit astride Ghost. So he tacked up a horse, one of the ones that had been carrying food and supplies, and vaulted on.

Ghost ran on ahead, howling, and Jon galloped after him, somehow knowing that Ghost knew where to go. He was tempted to phase into the wolf, but he knew it would be a bad idea, with the wildlings who were now fleeing from the battle. Jon rode past the rangers- their numbers were barely diminished, despite many bodies lying on the ground. He barely gave their confusion as to where they where they were going a glance, simply focusing on following Ghost, and navigating the trees. Dimly Jon noted that they were heading towards the Fist of the First Men; what could Arya be headed there for? Perhaps wildlings had set up camp there? Or perhaps the Skirling Pass, or even taken up Mance Raydars old site at Frost Fangs?

The night drew on long, and the wind bit Jon's face, snow landing in his hair where his hood had been blown back. His horse began to tire as they reached the base of the mountains, and Ghost trotted back, having lost the trail. Now Jon was alone, in Wildling territory, with an unfit horse, and no food or drink. It reminded him of when he had refused to kill Ygritte, and she had towed him off course, and they had both ended up alone and lost... or at least, Jon had been lost. Ygritte had known exactly where she was. Jon felt a pang as he remembered the girl, kissed by fire. He had loved her, truly. But he had been forced to choose, his lover and those who would raid the north, or his sworn brothers and the nights watch.

Jon dismounted his horse, and tied it to a nearby tree, taking off its saddle. He wouldn't take the poor thing up the mountain. He considered warging into the horse, and taking it back to camp at Crasters Keep, but there wasn't time for it. He had to find Arya before it was too late. He knew that she didn't want to be found, but there must have been a misunderstanding , maybe she had been frightened, confronted with old memories, confused by them. Perhaps scared that it wasn't really him...

Jon trudged up the mountain, keeping an eye out for any movement. Ghost trotted silently on ahead. The night seemed to grow darker as he walked through the thick snow and ice, the snow muffling his footsteps, the only sound being the low wind.

"Why are you following me?"

Jon span around, almost losing his balance. Arya was stood behind him, the end of her sword inches away from his throat. Jon almost sighed in relief at seeing her, and made to move towards her, but stopped when she raised her sword threateningly.

"Arya?" He whispered, confused as to why she would have her sword drawn on him. Suddenly he recognised the tiny blade as Needle, the sword he had gifted her when she was a child.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, not lowering the sword. "How do you know me?"

Jon's brow creased. She knew how. "Arya, it's me, Jon. Jon Snow, your brother," He said. She didn't move. "I came to find you, to bring you home."

Arya's hand didn't waver. "How did you know where I was?" Her eyes gleamed in the darkness.

"Arya... why are you threatening me, I'm not going to hurt you," Jon said, still confused as to why she had her sword at his throat, now that she knew who he was.

Arya didn't move. "A lot of people have said that to me."

Jon let out a shaky breath. What had happened to his sweet baby sister, why had she become so drawn and cold? "Arya, I came to find you, we've been looking for you..."

"We?"

"Your sister and Bran and I," Jon said. "We looked everywhere for you, nearly gave up, but some Nightswatch man saw you. Wrote to us at Winterfell." He stared at her, and she slowly pulled back her sword, putting it in its holster at her hip. Jon saw several other weapons hanging there along with it.

"You've wasted your time," she said finally. "I am not coming back."

Jon felt a flicker of hurt. Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been this. "Arya, please- Winterfell is your home."

Arya scoffed. "Winterfell has not been my home since I was a child. I do not have a home." She saw the hurt flash across his face, and sighed. "Jon, I am sorry. Truly. But I do not belong south of this wall anymore, just as you don't belong here."

"Arya, please. What has happened to you?" Jon said, finally feeling angry, amidst the hurt and the confusion. "You have to come home. Please. I missed you so much, ever since I first left Winterfell for Castle Black I have missed you. You have to come back." Arya sighed, and made to move away, but Jon grasped her arm. She snarled, but he did not let go. "Arya, your home is not here, it is at Winterfell. This place," he gestured around at the dark mountain side, "is not your home. We have looked for you everywhere, wherever there is a tale of you being, and I've just found you. You can't just leave now. I won't let you."

Arya sighed, staring into his eyes. "Jon... is it really you?" She asked, her voice softening.

"Yes!" Jon said, pulling her closer, his hands rapping around her forearms. "Yes it's me, Jon Snow, your big brother."

Arya made a tiny noise, before she dropped her cold façade, and threw herself into his arms, her face buried into his shoulder. Jon grasped her tightly, unsure that he would ever let her go again. He breathed in the scent of her hair; it was as soft and sweet as it always had been.

* * *

"Crow rangers!" shouted a scout, as he ran back to their camp. Arya lifted her head, putting down the rock she had been using to sharpen Needle. "I just saw them entering The Haunted Forest, they're making for Craster's Keep." He said, hands on his knees as the free folk crowded around.

The camp was comprised of about fifty free folk, about a mile or two away from the fork in the river that named it Antler River. The spot was sheltered, and quiet, far enough away from the Wall that they were undisturbed by rangers, and close enough that they could keep an eye out for any trouble. It been Arya who suggested the spot a few months ago, when the group had settled at Mance Raydar's old site at Frost Fangs, with all of the others- that there should be three or four camps, one each at an end of Antler River, one half way along The Gorge, and the rest, and biggest group on the far side of the Fist of the First Men, in The Skirling Pass. That way they were spread out, covered the land in places Rangers rarely bothered with, and were all in reaching system of at least one other camp. The idea had been taken up quickly to say the least.

"How many?" asked Maeker. Maeker was Mance's younger brother, and had taken up his elder brothers torch as King-Beyond-The-Wall, and more people rallied to his cause everyday; there were much fewer Free Folk now, after the war, but already Maeker had amassed a small army, even if it wouldn't be ready for a full scale battle yet. And this as why the way their camps were set up was so effective for them, allowing them to excel in guerrilla tactics against the Crows.

"I counted thirty men, but there could be more- didn't look like they had many provisions though, so I doubt they're going far," the scout said, having caught his breath back. Arya recognised him now; called Thrinn, a youth of nine and ten, with an auburn head of hair. He was a good lad, a bit mouthy at times, even by Free Folk standards.

"They'll be out to see if there's any trouble about near the wall," Maeker said to the group. "want to see why we haven't made any noise in the past few weeks."

A man stepped forward and Arya recognised him as Belkr; he was head strong, and rash, always ready for a fight. He stood at almost seven foot, black hair tied in a leather tong at the back of his head. "Well how about we give them some noise?!" He shouted, growing louder towards the end of the sentence.

Several of the wildlings cheered, others like they would rather keep low. Maeker shook his head.

"We can't all just go in, swords out," he said. "Thrinn said there could be more, we have to be sure."

"Or we could contact the other camps," Grisser said; Arya despised Grisser. He was tall, greasy, and sly, with pale eyes and hair that brushed his shoulders. He was needlessly cruel, and had a habit of believing himself better than anyone else simply because he was a gifted swordsman. He detested Arya, and constantly picked fights with her; when she first came to Maeker a year ago he had propositioned her, coming on to her strongly, growing demanding when she refused. The third time he had gone too far, and Arya had drawn her dagger on him. The bastard had laughed at her in front of the others and teased her.

"You're just a silly little girl playing at being a warrior," he japed cruelly, pulling out his own sword. "Whether you like it or not I'll have you soon, so you'd better watch out." He had laughed when she snarled then. "The little pup is getting all riled up- I have that effect on women. Now," he said with a smirk. "How about we fight, and I when I win, you'll put down that silly sword of yours, and mount mine instead?"

Arya had growled in fury, and he took the moment to lash out at her, cocky as he was, but within two minutes Arya held him from behind, one dagger at his throat and one at his cock. "It'll be hard to mount that sword of yours after I've cut it off," she had hissed, causing the people who had gathered to watch to laugh. She had withdrawn the dagger from his neck at lightening speed and lifted a foot to boot him in the middle of his back, causing him to fall in a heap in the snow among peals of laughter.

He had never forgiven her for this, and as a result clashed with her as often as possible. He had been one of the few to turn down her idea of settlements.

"We'll contact the other camps and raise a hundred men," Grisser boasted. "We'll take them on and kill them before they even know we're there! Get rid of the bastards once and for all!" A few people murmured in agreement. "We'll kill all except one, and we'll send the cunt back to their bloody castle, and make him tell them that we're a thousand men strong! The other crows won't want a massacre and they'll let us through that tunnel before we kill them!" He roared, and more people cheered. Arya rolled her eyes and waited for the crowd to die down.

"That would never work," Arya said calmly from where she sat on a log, twiddling Needle in her hands. The crowd turned to face her, from where they were standing a few metres away. Grisser pulled an ugly face at her. "What, you think they would just hear we have five times the army we do, and just let us carry on through their castle, to murder, rape, and thieve?" A few people muttered assent. Grisser looked furious.

"If they think we have a thousand men or more, they will know they don't stand a chance, and to avoid a battle they'll let us through," he snarled at her, stepping threateningly towards her.

"You reckon?" Arya said. "You think they'll be so stupid as to let us through without evidence that we have that number? Hells, if we had that number there is no way they wouldn't know about it already, and they know that too. And what if they call us into battle, and we still only have the men we do now? If we lie and say we have that number, they'll laugh in our faces."

"Well, what do you propose?" He spat into the snow. "We just let them shut us out here, with all the left over ice walkers and dead men to murder us in our sleep?"

Arya shook her head. "Of course not. We'll fight them, but not how you propose. An outright battle won't win this."

"Yeah?" He said, challenging her. "How would you know that?" His pale eyes glinted with fury, unused to anyone calling him out.

"Because I'm from that side of the wall, you bloody idiot. I lived there for most of my life, and I know how they work, I know how they think. There is more beyond that wall than you think," Arya said, twisting Needle in her hands. "While they haven't had to fight the same struggles that we have on this side of that Wall, they have been fighting among themselves, for centuries, over all kinds of different lands and reasons. This means they have better understanding of battle, better tactics at war. This means that they will beat us. Do you remember the last time they beat us?" There was a quiet upon the air as Arya spoke. "Mance was a good leader, he was smart. But he went in to battle all guns blazing, and despite having ten times the amount of men than the Nightswatch, he lost. And where is he now?" Arya's question hung heavy in the air.

There was silence, as Grisser fumed inwardly, and the others took in what she as saying. It was often forgotten that Arya was not a wildling; the wildlings and the Northmen like the Starks were descendants of First Men, and the wildlings just happened to be on the wrong side of the Wall when it was built. Arya wasn't like the others beyond the wall, she was more controlled, a better tactician, smarter and more ruthless in exacting her revenge. But she had been beyond the wall long enough that most forgot this.

"What do you suggest, Arya?" asked Maeker sagely.

"We frighten them- they'll get to Craster's Keep, and we'll wait until they are asleep. Then we'll start to spook them gradually; they're still skittish and nervous after the war, and these Crows are inexperienced. They'll scare easily. We'll draw a couple out at a time, and spook them, kill them and make a noise. The other crows will hear, and think they are surrounded. We'll draw them out into a battle, and not engage, and then leave. They'll give chase, and we'll split them up, before using the rest of our numbers to battle them. While the fight is going on, a few of us will stay behind and raid their camp at Craster's, take what we need, and burn the place down." People were murmuring agreements, and nodding their heads.

"If we burn it down, then we won't be able to use it," said Grisser, stubbornly refusing to accept her plan was smarter than his.

"So? We don't need it. They do. It's the nearest stead to the wall, and they need it," Arya explained. "Without it they won't have a decent hold to stay at, which means they'll have to range further out, into free folk territory. We'll burn it down, and mark it like the ice walkers used to- remember the patterns and spirals they used to leave behind?" People looked queasy at the memory. "We'll do that, and spook them further, so that when they go back they'll freak out, think the ice walkers are back, and we've made some kind of a pact with them. Then they'll send out larger ranging parties, but not as many as we are, and we'll take them down bit. by. bit."

* * *

Arya crouched up in a tree, watching as her plan was set into motion. A ranger had come out with a dog, or something similar, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Somewhere behind her some fool made a noise, and he disappeared back inside. Arya hissed; she had hoped to get down there and make a noise killing him, so the other crows would hear and come running. She struck some flint together on some dried up leaves, creating a small fire in her palms, and dropped it onto a bush below, which immediately burst into flames. The crow and his brothers came out running to see what the noise was, and Arya watched with glee as three of them went out into the woods, where the others were waiting.

The first one stayed behind and waited, eventually growing restless, and she watched as he went and roused the others. She balled up some ice from the tree in her hand really tight, and threw it forcefully to where she knew the other wildlings had the crows captured, signalling to them to make some noise.

As the crows started yelling, the others came out of the old keep, and as they were talking Arya dropped another flame onto another bush, stifling a grin as the first ranger went to see who was there, never thinking to look up. More screams went off, and then, having seen the second fire, which was the signal to ambush, the wildlings launched their attack.

Arya itched to join the fight, but forced herself to stay in the tree; a few metres down four more wildlings were hidden up in the trees, ready to burn the keep to the ground once the rangers gave chase. It wasn't long before the wildlings began to flee, and sure enough, the crows followed.

Except one. Arya watched and waited as he killed some wildling she didn't know, and saw in his face that he had worked out her plan. Arya leapt from her perch on the branch, falling into the snow silently, getting ready to kill him, but as she crept towards him she saw a body. A wildling.

Belkr.

Arya was filled with cold fury as she saw him slain in the snow. He had been good, and kind, even if rash and headstrong, and Arya had liked him. Filled with rage she roared, and charged at this ranger, who killed Belkr.

He span just in time, his long sword colliding with Needle, and Arya twisted it away. He was an excellent fighter, strong and skillful, better than anyone else she had fought in a long time. But he wasn't filled with the anger that she was, and she twisted and snapped, and thrust, just about to throw the dagger in her hand at his throat, when there was a snarl, and Nymeria charged in to protect Arya, only stopped when another hulking grey mass of fur slammed into her, starting a vicious fight between them. Arya recognised the animal, but she couldn't put it together in her mind.

She took the chance and twisted the sword out of his grip, and pointed Needle at his throat. She watched him with fascination, unsure why she hadn't killed him yet. There was something about him...

He raised a hand, and Arya watched, lips pulled into a snarl, as he grasped her hood, and pulled it down, before taking in her face.

"Arya?"

That voice... she knew that voice. She looked more closely at his face, taking in the strong jaw, black hair, and eyes, grey eyes, just like hers but different somehow, more masculine... her fathers eyes.

"...Jon?"

Jon Snow? Her big brother, Jon? Why was he here, what was he doing? He was no longer a Nightswatch man, so he had no reason to be here. Over the years since her fathers murder, Arya had become very good at not thinking of her past life, refusing to brood on things that once were rather than plan for what would happen next. And Jon had always been the one thing she couldn't forget. She had always been closer to him than her other siblings, seeing as they were both the social outcasts of the family, and she had missed him terribly when he had gone to the wall.

But after years of pain and misery, she found that she didn't think of her family anymore. She was unlikely to ever see them again, and it hurt to think it, but she had to move on; there was too much happening, too much else to focus on if she wanted to survive.

This couldn't be her Jon. He, and the rest of her once family were just that- the memory of them was like a far off tale, a different world. Her world had become death, running, fighting, survival, all from the second Ilyn Payne had chopped off her fathers head on Joffrey's order. Of course, she had made him pay for that.

Jon let out a sigh, and moved towards her, and in that second Arya panicked. This wasn't real. She didn't have a family. She had been alone for the past nine years, it was impossible and cruel that he was here after all this time, united only because they were on opposite fights of a wall.

In her panic, Arya span away, leaping fluidly onto Nymeria's back and running into the dark, trying to escape being confronted with her past. As they darted through the tree's Arya was assaulted by memories of life before leaving Winterfell. It was staggering to think that the last time she saw Winterfell she had been an seven year old child; she had spent more time away than she had living there. Arya wasn't sure, but she believed she had just had her sixteenth name day. And the last time that she had seen Winterfell was the last time that she had seen her brothers. A part from Robb. The last time she saw Robb had been when the Frey men had cut off his head and sewn the head of Grey Wind in place. Bran had been in a coma last she saw him, and Rickon? He had been a giggling infant. He would be twelve, or thirteen, now. The last time she saw Sansa had been her on the dais at the statue of Baelor, just before Joffrey had their father beheaded.

Jon brought too many memories with him, too many difficult to bear. She didn't want this- she had just found sanctity and peace with the Free Folk, who didn't think less of her for not being a lady. Who did not judge her for being herself. But was she really happy? She understood them, and she fit in here with them, but she was not truly one of them. She loved life beyond the wall much more than she had any of the places she had been since she left Winterfell, but Arya wondered if it was a substitute for HER North.

She shook her head, and leapt off of Nymeria's back, startling the still running wolf, and landing softly in the snow. She needed the cold bite of the ice to ground her, while she dealt with the storm inside, threatening to drag her down.

Arya did not know how long she was walking through the swirling snow for, not knowing exactly why she was headed for the Fist, and she was woken from her thoughts by the sound of hooves. She crouched down behind a drift of ice, and peered into the dark; the hoof prints sounded far off, and Arya could not see that far into the darkness. Closing her eyes she controlled her breathing, knowing that if it was him then he was like to follow her up the mountain side.

Arya considered running again; his horse was sure to tire soon, and Arya would be able to get a decent head start on him. She could run, hide out in a cave somewhere, and join either the main camp in the Frost Fangs, or rejoin her group at Antler Bend. It would be only too easy to evade him, here in the North, and even if he was fabled as one of the greatest rangers to have walked the true north, he hadn't lived there as she had. He couldn't search every inch of the North for her, he would eventually be forced to concede defeat.

Yet as she sank into the snow, Arya questioned... did she really want to run, now that she finally had the chance to see him again? For years and years all she could dream about was finding her family again. But she had given up on it, moved on to getting her revenge, and abandoned the hope of ever reuniting with her family once more. Yet here he was, the brother she had missed more than anyone, and she was running away from him. Hell, she had even held Needle, the sword that he had given her as a gift, to his neck to kill him.

She could hear him now, walking through the snow; Arya closed her eyes, inner turmoil raging inside. She waited a little longer, before slinking off to the side and back down the rough slope, dropping down over hangs to come up behind him. She had to be sure it was him. Loads of people had grey eyes and dark hair, not just the Starks. It could have been anyone who recognised her; for all she knew it could have been someone willing to trick her, take her to her enemies south of the wall and make a tidy profit from delivering the missing Arya Stark to someone who wanted her dead. It was possible, and after everything that had happened, Arya thought it far more likely that than it truly being Jon Snow.

She could see him now, striding up the steep and rocky slope. Arya watched him from behind an overhang of ice; the way he moved, the way he pulled himself over boulders and jumped the small ravines. It was so familiar, yet so distant Arya wasn't sure if she was imagining things.

Arya took a deep breath and silently came up behind him as he took his breath, ghosting over boulders and rocks of ice. Just in case, she pulled out Needle and touched the tip to the back of his neck; he didn't even feel it.

"Why are you following me?"

It was the first thing that came to her mind; if it wasn't him then she had a pretty good reason to know why, and if it was... how had he only found her now? Why bother after all this time?

He stiffened, and span around quickly, and Arya noted how he almost slipped on the ice beneath his feet. Arya was stood behind him, the end of her sword inches away from his throat. Jon almost sighed in relief at seeing her, and made to move towards her, but stopped when she raised her sword threateningly.

"Arya?" He whispered. His voice was deep, and rough, just as it had been as children, if a few notes lower. His eyes seemed to crease slightly, the tension melting from his body. She watched as he made as if to move towards her, drawing her head up higher, stiffening her back, almost unconsciously lifting Needle upwards. Confusion flitted across his face, and Arya swallowed, as still and hard as stone on the outside, as she had been forced to learn to do during the war, but a shaking mess inside.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, not lowering the sword. "How do you know me?"

Jon's brow creased, looking as he had when they were small children, and Catelyn was cruel to him, and he didn't yet understand why. "Arya, it's me, Jon. Jon Snow, your brother," He said. She didn't move. "I came to find you, to bring you home."

Home? To Winterfell? No, that couldn't... Arya had dreamed of hearing those words so many times after she escaped Kings Landing, when her father was murdered, so how, how could life be so cruel as only to present them to her now, so many years later?

Arya's hand didn't waver. "How did you know where I was?" How could he have possibly found her out here? Arya had thought it to be a coincidence, perhaps he was still a Crow, but he said he had come to get her.

"Arya... why are you threatening me, I'm not going to hurt you," Jon said, evidently hurt and confused by Arya's response.

Arya didn't move. "A lot of people have said that to me."

It was true; how many people had she come to trust, before she was hurt by them, even if they did not mean it? The Brotherhood had said they would keep her safe, and then tried to trade her to the highest bidder. The Hound had never been her friend, but they had a certain degree of trust, and then he tried to sell her over and over. The Kindly Man had saved her and taught her to defend herself further, and then blinded her, tricked her, and tried to have the waif kill her. Arya eventually learnt not to trust anyone except herself, so why was Jon any different? He had promised that he would always protect her, but he had failed, turning up years later, only after she had saved herself. Arya knew deep down that that wasn't fair, but she couldn't help it.

Jon let out a shaky breath. "Arya, I came to find you, we've been looking for you..."

"We?" Was it possible that more of her family were alive and together? Arya felt a surge of rage. Her family, all together, living at Winterfell, reunited after the war, while she had been forgotten, abandoned, living out here alone. It was unfair; they all had each other, and Arya had become the lone wolf.

What was it her father had always said? _"When the snows fall, and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, and the pack survives."_

"Your sister and Bran and I," Jon said. "We looked everywhere for you, nearly gave up, but some Nightswatch man saw you. Wrote to us at Winterfell." He stared at her, and she slowly pulled back her sword, putting it in its holster at her hip, along with the other weapons hanging from her belt.

"You've wasted your time," Arya said, coldly, sheathing her sword. "I'm not going back."

She couldn't do it, couldn't face them all now. They were not her family, they had forgotten her, all of them together, happy, while she was out alone in the Land of Always Winter. How long had they all been laughing at her for? Her whole life she had been the outcast, the dark wolf in a pack of white. They had called her "Arya Horseface" and "She wolf", laughing behind her back. Arya wondered if any of them had even noticed when she went missing. It was sure to have been "Oh poor Sansa, all alone with Joffrey at the Red Keep, our beautiful girl so lost and afraid." What of Arya? Arya who had been alone, afraid her whole life? Had anyone remembered her, until everything else was dealt with?

Arya wanted to rage and scream and curse, but she knew that it wasn't fair to think like that. What could they have done? Arya didn't know if they had looked for her, she couldn't know what they felt when she went missing. All she had heard on her travels was stories of what happened to the pretty Stark girl Sansa, of the Bastard at the wall, raising quickly above everyone else, of the King in the North taking up his fathers torch, and everyone else, but never once was her name mentioned. Did that mean that her family forgot about her too? No; Arya knew it did not. Despite their japes at her, they had loved her, just as she had them, and she knew it. The fact that Jon was here, after all these years looking for her stood testament to that. Arya felt a surge of guilt for treating him so coldly, ashamed that this was how she greeted him after so many years apart.

Arya watched pain flit across Jon's face at her words. "Arya, please- Winterfell is your home."

Arya scoffed. "Winterfell has not been my home since I was a child. I do not have a home." She saw the hurt flash across his face, and sighed. "Jon, I am sorry. Truly. But I do not belong south of this wall anymore, just as you don't belong here."

"Arya, please. What has happened to you?" Jon said, clearly feeling angry, amidst the hurt and the confusion. "You have to come home. Please. I missed you so much, ever since I first left Winterfell for Castle Black I have missed you. You have to come back." Arya sighed, and made to move away, but Jon grasped her arm. She snarled, but he did not let go. "Arya, your home is not here, it is at Winterfell. This place," he gestured around at the dark mountain side, "is not your home. We have looked for you everywhere, wherever there is a tale of you being, and I've just found you. You can't just leave now. I won't let you."

Arya sighed, staring at his face searchingly. This was Jon, her Jon, her favourite brother, even if she wasn't supposed to have a favourite brother. As she looked into his eyes, her fathers eyes, eyes that she hadn't seen for so long that she had almost forgotten them, she remembered her life before, and how much she loved Jon, the big brother who always let her join in, and gave her secret presents when her mother wasn't watching. He had searched the world for her, and this as how she treated him?

Arya sighed, staring into his eyes. "Jon... is it really you?" She asked, her voice softening.

"Yes!" Jon said, pulling her closer, his hands wrapping around her forearms. "Yes it's me, Jon Snow, your big brother."

Arya made a tiny noise, before she dropped her cold façade, and threw herself into his arms, her face buried into his shoulder. Jon grasped her tightly, just how he used to, and Arya fought not to weep. So long since she had seen him, and here he was, real, and in the flesh. Not a dream, or a hallucination, but her brother. How many times had she dreamed of this moment? She had nearly run from him, content to let him scour the whole North for her, nearly lost him, lost this. How could she have even thought of doing such a thing? She felt him smell her hair, nestling his nose into her thick tresses and inhaling deeply, as he always had. Arya had never needed to ask to know that he found the smell comforting. At Winterfell he had never had the same affection as she and her siblings had had growing up, and Arya had always been the first one to offer him any signs of real love and affection as a sister, so to him her smell had become comforting, just as his had to her. He smelt the same as he always had, masculine, and strong, smelling of smoke and rain and pine trees and snow, and all of the things she loved.

Her feet were lifted into the air by his enthusiasm, and he sank to his knees in the snow, never letting her go


	4. This is What You Get

**DISCLAIMER: Still not mine. George R R Martin is one lucky lad.  
Good morning Readers- or maybe Good Afternoon... or even Good Night... guess it depends where you are and when you read this... at least, over here in England it's morning. Anyhoo, hopefully you enjoyed the last chapter, but just to clear up a couple of questions; first of all, Gendrya is end game, not Arya x Jon. They love each other very much as brother and sister- but not like Jaime and Cersei Lannister siblingly love. Secondly, Arya does not hate her family, nor is she mad with them, she is just jealous and upset that they were all together and she wasn't with them. She feels very isolated and alone, because she has been isolated and alone for a very long time. She doesn't blame them for that, but she is just very upset and angry at the unfairness of it all. I know the others all suffered too, all of them got hurt and lost people they loved, but Arya was isolated from everyone else, and, in a way, forgotten. I think she has a right to be upset about it. If you disagree, awesome, but that's how I see it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter too, so happy reading. Over and Out x**

"Who is it at the gates?" asked Gendry, as he stalked towards the courtyard entrance. He had been dealing with a servant who had been caught stealing from his rooms, and he was not in the best of moods. Indeed, he hadn't been in a good mood for a long while- not since he heard of Arya's fate. That night he had allowed himself to indulge in wine, waking up the next morning very hung-over, and he hadn't been in a good mood since.

"It's Sandor Clegane," replied Davos Seaworth, hurrying beside Gendry. "The Hound." He had come to Strom's End a moons turn ago, saying that whilst he cared for Jon Snow, he didn't care for the North, and felt he was more worth in the South serving a Baratheon as he had for Stannis, Gendry's uncle. Gendry, having met the man before during the war and liked him well, welcomed him immediately, straight away asking the man to be his top adviser.

Gendry almost tripped over his boots, staring at Davos in shock. "The Hound?" He snarled. "What's that bastard doing here?" Gendry had met the Hound many times over the years; seen him in Kings Landing, later met him with the Brotherhood, and worked with him alongside Jon Snow in the war- of course, this was before he had heard hat the bastard had done to Arya. Had he known...

Davos saw the expression flit across Gendry's face too late, and found himself chasing after the enraged Lord as he charged towards the gate. "M'Lord, wait- you can't just attack the man-" Gendry wasn't listening. He wanted to hurt Clegane, badly, and set him on fire.

He stormed through the corridors and pathways until he came to the gates, where the Hound was dismounting his horse. Before Clegane could even react, the eight foot tall block of muscle had smashed his fist into his face. The Hound grunted as he stumbled, clutching his jaw. As Gendry stood, glowering at him, he spat blood onto the ground.

"Aye, I had that coming," he growled in a rough and rasping tone. "But I thought you'd have the decency to wait until I was fully on the ground before you started throwing punches, boy. What happened to your precious honour?"

Gendry was tempted to smack him again, but this time not stop. "What happened to her?" He snarled, resting his hand on the enormous broadsword at his hip.

The Hound sneered at him. "I figured you would want to know. Just so happens that's why I'm here," he said, a cruel laugh on his voice, as he spat on the ground again.

Before Gendry could reply, Davos held up a hand. "M'Lord, why don't you take this inside," he suggested calmly. "There are people listening that ought not be. You don't want it getting out that you started a fight with a man before he even had a drink."

Gendry considered for a minute. "Fine," he bit out, storming towards the castle, "But if he doesn't talk, I'm dragging him out here, and I'm putting a sword through the cunt."

Ten minutes later Gendry was stood furiously in front of a desk, as the Hound stood in the doorway. Davos stood to the side of Gendry's desk, watching both men warily.

"Talk," Gendry growled, still trying to convince himself not to murder the bastard there and then.

The Hound snorted. "What about, the bloody weather?" he asked sarcastically. He looked mockingly around the room. "Nice place you've got here," he said with a bite, "for a bastard anyway."

Gendry growled, and leaned forwards, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"You got any wine in this castle?" asked Clegane with a sneer. "It was a long ride here, and a man gets a thirst."

"Why are you here, Clegane?" Gendry snapped.

"Oh." He said. "That. Well it might be that I wanted to see if the bastard boy I met with the brotherhood really is a Lord now. Or," he continued, "it might be that I have some news on your little bitch."

Gendry almost felt his heart stop. "Arya? What is it?" He said, almost forgetting his fury towards the repulsive man. What could the hound have heard? Was she... Gendry couldn't even think on it, the possibility that she could have been confirmed dead. He had known it as almost impossible his long ago partner was alive, had somehow survived, but he had hoped... surely, if someone had killed her it would have been spread like wild fire?

Clegane sneered. "You got any wine?"

Gendry snarled, and gestured to a table by the door, behind Clegane, who turned and poured himself a glass immediately. Whilst he still had his back turned he spoke. "Heard you've been asking about what happened to the little wolf bitch after she ran away from the Brotherhood," he said, gulping down the wine.

"Yeah, you," Gendry said furiously, "stole her."

Clegane let out a cruel and cold laugh. "Stole her? I did practically nothing. The girl walked straight into my hands, practically begging to be caught. Course, that was only after I grabbed her. She thought I was one of the Brotherhood at first, but she panicked when she heard my voice. I eventually had to knock the cunt out and carry her over my horses shoulders, she was kicking and squirming so much." Gendry swallowed; would he finally get his answers?

"She wasn't impressed," Clegane said, finally turning around, a cold smirk on his face, lopsided on his ruined face. "Tried to bash my head in with a rock when she thought I was asleep. I told her she could give it a go, but if she failed I'd use the bloody rock to break her pretty little fingers. She was fucking pissed, and attacked me anyway, only with her fists instead of the rock. I knocked her out eventually, and tied her up while I got ready to leave. She calmed down eventually, when she realised it was a lot more comfortable to ride in my lap rather than with her arse in the air over my horses withers, and her head hanging down.

"We got into a few fights, and I roughed her up a few times, but only when she got big headed," and Gendry could see it as the Hound described it; he remembered Arya doing that often, when she felt threatened or angry- she would become over confident, and cocky, but Gendry had always recognised it for what it was; not arrogance, but a defense mechanism. "Eventually she calmed down, when she listened to me tell her I was ransoming her to her brother at his wedding.

"Then we got there, only it didn't turn out as planned," The Hound said, glancing out of the window. "I got to the gates, pretending to be some food merchant, but they wouldn't let me in. I looked behind me and the bitch was gone. As I looked for her it became obvious that something was up, and when I found her she was watching through a window as the Stark soldiers, and her brother and mother were murdered. Saw her watch as her brothers wolf was shot full of arrows. I grabbed her, as she tried to run into the hall to her family, and she tried to get away, so I bashed her over the head with an ax handle. When she came to it was as her brothers disfigured body was paraded around. She passed out again soon after."

Gendry felt sick; he had heard that she had been there, but to have seen it herself, to have watched while her family was killed, just as she was almost reunited with them finally.

"She was still my ransom though," the Hound continued, "So I took her off to her aunt Lysa in the Eyrie. On the way we saw a group of Frey men around a fire, boasting about being the ones to sew her brothers wolf onto his body. She jumped off my horse before I could stop her, and went over to them. Asked if she could keep warm around the fire, that she'd pay them for it. Flicked that weird coin on the ground, and when he stooped to pick it up, she stabbed him, over and over.I killed the others, and took her knife. Asked her where she took it from. She sneaked it from my belt."

Gendry swallowed, leaning against a chair. He didn't know why he was so shocked, he'd seen her kill a man when she was only nine or ten, to escape Harrenhal, and according to her she had killed a stable boy who tried to turn her in when she was eight as well. But it was hard to think that she had had to do it again. Not that Gendry hadn't. He'd killed scores of people, but it was different; he was twenty and two, and she would only be, what, six and ten? And that weird coin- that could only be Jaquen H'gahrs coin.

"Not long after, we crossed an inn full off Lannister Soldiers. We were starving for decent food, but I knew it was a bad idea. I turned away for one second and the bitch slipped away, so I chased after her. Turned out she recognised the Soldiers. To hide her identity I passed her off as my whore, but one of them got a bit chatty and a fight broke out. You remember that little list she had? Of people she was going to kill?" Gendry nodded. She'd started that a long time ago. Gendry had always find it a little morbid to be honest, but he understood why she did it. Her anger as what drove her.

"Well he had been on that list. Polliver, or something like that. Killed her friend and took her sword. So she stabbed him, took her stupid little sword back, and poked a hole in his throat, watched as he chocked on his own blood." Polliver. Gendry remembered him. Whilst it was painful to think of Arya killing people, Gendry was glad that she had.

"It took a long bloody while, but we eventually got to her aunt in the Eyrie... only to find out she had killed herself two days before we got there. The little she wolf burst out laughing." The Hound scowled as he recounted the next part. "My plan as then to take her to her Uncle, the Black Fish. On the way we found a ransacked village and we eased a man to death; some cunt showed up and bit my shoulder before I got him off. Arya recognised him, and I asked if he as on her list. She said she didn't know his name, so he couldn't be. I asked him, and he said he was called Rorge or some other bastard name. Arya thanked him, and stabbed him in the heart as I just had done with the dying man." Gendry remembered Rorge; he had been the one who had promised to fuck her bloody.

"Before we got to her Uncle, that Tarth Bitch found us, and tried to take her from me. We fought, and I fell off the edge of a cliff. Arya ran from the Tarth woman, and found me. I begged the bitch to kill me like she had Rorge, but the cunt took my gold, and left me to die on the cliff side. That was the last I heard of her, and I assumed she was dead." The Hound said with a sigh. "I didn't like the bitch, but I respected her."

Gendry sank into his chair; Arya had gone through all of that? It hurt to think. If she was even alive then she must have gone insane. No child, especially a girl, should have killed that many people before they were even thirteen. Hell, she had killed more men by the time she was three and ten than he had by the time he was seven and ten.

The Hound cleared his throat, as he slumped into the chair opposite. Gendry looked up, and was filled with the urge to kill him again. But then he thought, if the Hound hadn't kidnapped her, the Brotherhood would have sold her to her enemies, and she would be dead far sooner.

"But that's not all I have to say," Clegane said. Gendry looked up, his heart thumping; had the hound somehow discovered the next part of the tale? "I as in a tavern up North a turn of the moon ago, when I heard some news. Some Stark soldier was telling his mate how Jon Snow- or Aegon Targaryen, whatever his name is these days- was riding up to the Wall, Castle Black, because apparently some sorry bastard up there saw his sister running wild with the wildlings. Fighting with them. Snow went up there to find out if it's true."

Gendry almost snapped his neck as he turned his head so fast. Arya was.. could be.. alive? And Jon was on his way to find her? Gendry felt his heart race, and the room seemed to spin with so many thoughts. He had to know if this as true, if she really was alive. He would ride straight for Winterfell, he thought, standing up, right now...

The Hound was still there. Gendry had forgotten about him.

"Is that all you have to say, Clegane?" He asked. "Or I suppose you want something in return?" Knowing the Hound he would want gold, and lot's of it, and Gendry was a little low on gold at the moment.

"Yes," he answered, standing up to almost meet Gendry's height. "I want work. Here. I doubt you have much of an army yet, and I want to serve in it."

Gendry blinked. The Hound wanted work? He shook his head slightly. "Fine. You want work? Go see Anguy, he's second in command. Tell him I've said you're to do whatever he needs, you're third in command after him." He didn't like the guy, but he was undeniably a good soldier, one of the best.

The Hound sneered, and nodded, disappearing off down the corridor. Gendry shook his head slightly as he went, before he suddenly remembered Davos, sitting quietly in the corner of the room. Just now the man was watching Gendry very carefully.

"You're going to go off riding to Winterfell, aren't you?" He asked skeptically. Gendry nodded. Davos sighed and got to his feet. He looked tired and drawn as he faced Gendry.

"M'Lord, please," He said. "Wait awhile and see if it is true; send a raven. The soldier at the inn could have been pissed, or had false information. Don't go riding off for a month to see if it's true, when your people need you here, and a raven will do it in a week. If it is true," he continued, "then you'll probably still have to wait; Jon won't be back for a few more weeks, possibly months if he has to scour the whole of the bloody North to find her."

Gendry could see the sensibility behind what Davos was saying... but he didn't like it. He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face, falling heavily into his chair. Arya was alive. Arya was ALIVE. Living beyond the Wall; Gendry wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. It was so utterly, absolutely and completely Arya. Doing what seemed to make simultaneously no sense at all and all the sense in the world. Gendry would ride for Winterfell as soon as he got word that Jon had brought her back... IF he brought her back.

It was as if all of the joy leached from Gendry's body and into the air. What if Jon didn't find her? Gendry had seen the North of the wall, and it was a never ending expanse that stretched beyond all imagination... and that was just the bit that was mapped. Arya could be anywhere there. It would be nigh on impossible to find her, and that was only if she even wanted to be found. Arya was bullheaded as a child and Gendry doubted she had changed. Once she got something into her head it was all but impossible to change her mind. If Arya had decided to live with the free folk, she had probably made up her mind already, and it would be exceedingly difficult to un-make it for her. Tell her not to do something and it became her hearts desire.

In that moment is seemed as if Arya was even more lost to Gendry now than before she was missing.

* * *

"Jon," Arya said softly, pushing away from him. "Jon."

Arya as unsure how long they had been holding each other, but the snow was beginning to soak through her thick breeches, and out in the North it was a dangerous thing to get wet. She didn't doubt Jon was even more soaked than her, as she was partially resting on him.

"Jon, we have to find shelter," Arya said. "I know a place. Come on." She pulled him up, and squirmed slightly under his gaze. She was used to men looking her over like they wanted to have her, but the way Jon was looking at her... no one had looked at her with that amount of love in a long time. It made her uncomfortable.

As Arya marched through the snow, Jon beside her, she tried to think what to say. How could she apologise for reacting as she had? Surely he would be angry at her for it. The walk wasn't a long way, and soon Arya found her little spot. It was an underground cave, warm with water running in pools and streams below the mountain. She had found it when she first came to the North, before she found the wildlings.

When she motioned to it, Jon seemed to freeze slightly, an odd expression passing across his face, before he jumped the drop into the cave. It was currently pitch dark in there, but as Arya dropped she fumbled around in her cloak for her flints, the ones she had used to set the bushes on fire... that was another thing she would have to explain to Jon; ambushing his camp and killing his friends.

Arya bit her lip as she ripped a piece of fabric from her cloak, and tied it around a thick piece of wood, before dunking it in the tar like wax that oozed from the walls of the cave, and lighting it. Slowly the whole cave lit up, shadows and patterns dancing across the walls and floor as the orange light reflected on the hot water. Arya was surprised to see Jon staring at the water, a sad and pained expression marring his features. Arya took a moment to take his face in properly, now properly visible in the light. _He looks just like father,_ she thought sadly, as he turned to face her.

She watched him carefully before she said anything. "You've been here before," she stated. He nodded.

"Once before," he said, elaborating upon her questioning expression. "It's a long story but... I was here once with a wildling girl that I loved. Ygritte." He watched her as she sat down on a rock, and removed her heavy cloak, wearing a leather vest over a grey tunic type shirt, with tan breeches and dark leather boots. Jon as surprised she hadn't frozen to death already with only that keeping her from the freezing weather outside.

Arya stared into the water, watching the steam rise in shaky rivulets.

"How did you come to be here, Arya?" Jon asked quietly. Arya continued staring into the steam, and she heard Jon shuffle opposite her.

"I found it," she said simply. "I was freezing, and starving. I hadn't seen Nymeria in weeks. I was angry, and I kicked at a clump of ice. It fell down the concealed crevice, and I heard it land in the water. I followed it."

"That's not what I meant," Jon said impatiently.

Arya turned to look at him, her grey eyes searching his identical ones. "I know." She answered, somewhat unwilling to share her tale. Where exactly would one begin? With the murder of her father? The journey to the Nightswatch, and Harrenhal? The Brotherhood, and the Hound? Bravos and the Faceless Guild? Everything that came after? And what of his own story?

Jon seemed to accept her silence for his answer, at least for now. Arya remembered him being as stubborn as she was, and knew he would not let it drop. "Sansa will be so happy to see you," he said, instead, and Arya felt her heart sink. "- So will Bran. They would have come with me, but-"

"Jon," Arya cut across, staring him in the eye. "I meant what I said earlier. I'm not going back."

Arya watched with guilt as Jon froze, and swallowed deeply, his brow creasing deeply. "What do you mean you aren't coming back? You have to come back, Sansa and Bran-"

"Are better off without me," Arya finished harshly. Jon looked at her with surprise, and Arya sighed before standing up and turning her back to him, staring unseeingly into the water. "You are not the boy who left Winterfell, Jon, nor am I the girl. And I am not a nice person, anymore. I've done things, things that would make you hate me if you found out-"

"I could never hate you, Arya," Jon interrupted, standing up and moving to stand behind her. He grabbed her arm, but Arya didn't turn around. "- we've all done things, myself more than many. Sansa and Bran won't care, I know they won't."

"Jon, you don't understand," Arya said quietly, hesitantly. "I've done things that have not just changed me mentally, but I have done things that have stripped away layers of my identity. Things that have left me less than I was before. I can't come back, not now, not after everything."

"Yes, you can!" Jon said loudly, starting to grow angry. Arya crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I don't CARE what you've done, Sansa and Bran don't CARE what you've done! I didn't come all the way out here just to let you stay here and believe you're worse than the rest of us, when everything you did was done to survive-"

"Jon, you don't KNOW the things I've done," Arya said hotly. "So don't tell me that-"

"SO TELL ME!" he shouted, finally succeeding in turning her around. "Tell me the things you've done, tell me why you're so bad, why you can't come home!"

"I CAN'T!" Arya shouted, pushing him backwards slightly. "I could stand here all night, and all of tomorrow telling you why I can't go back, but there would be no point! I would still stay here, and you would just hate me as well!" She said bitterly, her hand on Needle.

Jon sighed, and scrubbed at his face with his palm. Arya tried to control her breathing, unsure why she was so angry at him.

"Arya," he said more quietly, "please. I was telling the truth when I said I looked everywhere for you, from Dorne to Winterfell. I can't just leave you here now. What would I tell Sansa and Bran?"

"Tell them that I said I'm sorry, and that I miss them," Arya whispered, sinking to the rock she had sat on earlier, "but that it doesn't change anything. I don't belong there anymore. I'm staying here, and that's the end of it."

Jon felt his temper begin to rise again. "What, so you can fight with Wildlings and eventually die at the sword of either one of my brothers, or one of the wildlings who was having a bad day? Why are you here, Arya?"

Arya tried hard to squash her temper down. She sighed, and went to him, grabbing his forearm. " Jon, look, I missed you. I missed you so much that some days I thought it would tear me apart. The same for Sansa, and Bran, and Rickon, and Robb, and Mother and Father. But we separated a long time ago, and I accepted that a long time ago, and now you need to, as well."

Jon growled, frustrated with the girl. Why was she being so impossible?! "Why? Why should I accept it now, now that the war is done? I don't understand what is holding you back, I really don't. If I were you, and you told me that I could come home after everything... I sure as hell wouldn't be stood here arguing. I don't care what you say now Arya, you're coming back with me, to Winterfell."

Arya let out a cold laugh. "What, and you're going to make me? Do you not remember that it was _I_ who held a sword to _your t_ hroat?"

Jon seemed to grow angry at this, leaning towards her. "I will drag you back to Winterfell if I have to, Arya," he growled at her. "I love you, you are my sister, but if I have to do it, I will." He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, which Arya didn't reciprocate. "I don't want to argue with you Arya. Whatever God is up there knows that. Please, let's just stay here until morning, and then we'll leave in the morning." Arya felt her heart constrict; he was right. How long had she dreamed of meeting him again? So why as she spending it arguing with him, threatening him? She sighed, and hugged him tighter to her, nestling into his chest. He seemed to relax when he realised she wasn't going to push him away, and pressed his nose into her hair.

"I'm sorry, Jon," Arya whispered. "I still can't believe you are even here. I thought I would never see you- any of you- ever again. I missed you so much. So much. I'm sorry that all I've done is push you away and threaten you since you got here."

Jon chuckled. "You wouldn't be my Arya if you didn't. Always did fight with people twice your size," He pulled away, and Arya saw a mischievous glint in his eye. They were darker than she had originally thought. "-It shouldn't be hard, finding people bigger than you to fight. You're tiny!" He let out a bark of laughter, and Arya scowled. "Are you wearing children's clothes?"

Arya hissed in mock anger. "Actually, I am. Yes. So stick that up your shiny arse, dickhead."

Jon looked shocked for a second, and then roared with laughter.


	5. Old Friends

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING. RIGHTS GRRM AND HBO**

 **Alright my readers, hope all is good, and you enjoyed the last chapter. As always, any questions or suggestions, drop me a cheeky email, and for those of you who feel so inclined, review, review, review! That's all from me today, so, over and out xoxo**

"She should be back by now," Maeker said, downing a cup of ale. "She said that if she hadn't returned by sunrise on the next morning, that something had happened and she had been forced to go elsewhere." The King Beyond The Wall sighed heavily, leaning against the edge of the table with his head bent.

"Yeah, or the bitch is dead," he heard Grisser mutter from behind, and rolled his eyes. It was obvious that the man was still obsessed with the girl, even in his anger. He turned around and stared Grisser in the eye for a long while, causing him to shuffle uncomfortably.

"She won't be dead," Maeker said firmly, "you've seen her with that bloody sword of hers. If she did run into trouble, she won't have headed here first, wouldn't want to lead anyone to the camp. She most like is camping out alone, to get them off of her trail, maybe headed for Skirling Pass."

"Why would she head there?" asked Dirkas, from the corner. "If she's trying to steer them away from us, why would she take them to our biggest camp?"

Maeker sighed heavily, his grip tightening on the table edge. "I don't know. She knows those mountains well, she could trick them somehow; if they were rangers like the Halfhand used to be then she wouldn't risk it, but they aren't. They don't know the North as well as the more experienced rangers used to, they have rarely ventured as far as the Pass." Maeker turned around, and regarded the room. "Truth is, I don't know where she is, or what she's thinking. You all know how unpredictable she is. We'll just have to trust she knows what she's doing."

"Trust her?" said Grisser angrily. "Trust her?! How can we? You heard the others, while we were off fighting for her bloody plan, she never turned up to help burn down Crasters. They saw her fight some Crow, and then let him live, before riding off on that stupid wolf of hers. And he followed her. How do we know that she hasn't taken up with the Crows in secret? She could be leading them to the Frost Fangs, not trying to trick them!"

There were murmurs of ascent and Maeker closed his eyes heavily. He knew inviting Grisser to the meeting had been a mistake, but he was one of their best fighters. "We don't know who that Crow was," he said, pouring some ale. "I admit, she did let him live when she could have killed him. She did run off, and whoever it was did follow. But it could have been for any reason. We can't just kill her because she disappeared." He met the eyes of the others in the room, and saw their indecision. "But, you are right; it's too suspicious. Hagart, Thorinn, and Grisser," He said, nodding at his best soldiers. "You'll track her down. Take what you need, and two other men, and bring her back here. I don't care how, but I want her found. Kill whoever is following her, whether she's taken up with them or not. If she refuses, do what you must, but don't kill her. She has too much information in her head. If she has turned traitor, she might have as much information on them that we can use as she does information on us for them. If you have to knock her out and tie her up, I don't care, but I want her found."

* * *

Arya stared at Jon as he slept; he had fallen asleep past midnight, and Arya had stared at him ever since. They had talked a lot, mostly him trying to convince her to leave with him in the morning. Arya was tempted, she admitted that to herself. Winterfell was a dream that she had carried with her for years, but dreams were just that; dreams. They didn't come true, no matter how hard you wished that they did. Jon didn't understand why she had to stay, he couldn't. That was why she had to leave him.

If she left now she would make it to the Frost Fangs in three nights, less if she rode Nymeria. She would tell the Dread eye that she had been tracked by two Crows, but had lost them near the Milkwater. That she had decided to tell him the developments seeing as she was near, rather than send scouts on a long journey. He would believe her. She knew how it all looked, no doubt Grisser was spreading lies about her at camp. She would just have to go back there and tell the tale she would tell Dread eye. Maeker would understand.

Jon barely stirred as she packed up her meager belongings; all she had was what she could carry. She took one hard look at him before she left; when would she see his face again? Probably never. It was hard to believe he was there at all, real and alive. And here she was, leaving him. She doubted he could ever forgive her. When he woke up in the morning, to see she had left him there, alone in the cave, without saying goodbye, she had no doubt he would be filled with rage. She knew she would. But she had no choice. After everything that had happened, she couldn't just go back to Winterfell and pretend that she was the same person who had left all those years ago. Because she wasn't just Ned Starks youngest daughter anymore. She might still have that person in her somewhere but there as no pretending that she was anymore. She had been so many people in her life that inside she just felt empty, somehow. Like everything she had been had taken a piece of her. She wasn't Arya Stark of Winterfell, and she couldn't just go back there.

Jon would be angry at her, but he would understand.

The cold air stung her face as she exited the cave, but Arya welcomed it. It was snowing, thickly, and the morning sun was only just beginning to rise. Arya began the long walk to Frost Fangs, determined to not think of the brother she had just left behind. She rehearsed her story for Dread eye, though she knew she didn't need to. She was a master liar. after her time in Braavos. But still, she said it in her head over and over again.

 _It went perfectly... I planned for him to stay alive so that he could go back and tell the others hat happened... but then I saw my friend dead, and the crow had killed him, so I was going to kill him... after I disarmed him I forced myself to leave, because I knew if I didn't I would kill him, and we needed him alive... but he followed me, him and another I hadn't seen... they tracked me, and I knew I couldn't take them to camp at Antler Bend so I lost them at the Fist... I came here to tell you what happened... Didn't see much sense in sending scouts on a long journey to tell you when I could do it from a few days away..._

Arya said it over and over and over again as she marched, even until darkness came again. _he followed me, him and another._ As she climbed up a tree, and tied herself to a branch for the night, _they tracked me, and I knew I couldn't lead them to Antler Bend._ As she breathed onto her hands to warm up, _I came here to tell you what happened._ But as Arya fell asleep, she remembered another thing that she used to chant...

She was running, fast, down narrow streets, darting through ally ways. _Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow, fear cuts deeper than swords._ She was being chased, she could hear them. Arya darted around a corner. _Quick as a snake, calm as still water, fear cuts deeper than swords._ There was shouting; "Arya, Arya!" They were tricking her, wanted her to think they were helping her, when they would really take her back to the Red Keep and the Queen. _Strong as a bear, fierce as a wolverine, fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._ A strong hand gripped around her arm, and yanked her nine year old self into the shadows. She wanted to scream but she couldn't, their hand was over her mouth. "Arya! Arya!" the voice was calling, even though she was right there. She turned around and Meryn Trant was sneering down at her, his hand on his sword. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ Suddenly the streets of Kings Landing were gone, and she was Cat of the Canals. _Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow, fear cuts deeper than swords._ Meryn Trant was still chasing her, and Arya jumped over a barrel as crowds scream, but wait... this wasn't right. Why would he be in Braavos? Someone was shouting again, "Arya! Arya!" She turned around, and Trant was gone, in his place the Waif, a dagger raised high. Arya jumped over a bridge, and the waif was gone, but the water was not, and she was being pulled down, down, down. As the water turned black, _fear cuts deeper than swords. fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._ And all the while, that voice was shouting, screaming "Arya! Arya!-

Arya jolted awake, breathing heavily. For a moment she thought she was still sinking in the heavy black water, and panicked, before she realised it was night time, it had all been a dream...

"Arya! Arya!" The shouting was back. Was that what had woken her? "Arya, please come back! Arya!"

It was Jon.

He must have woken, and followed her somehow; surely not her tracks, it was snowing heavily, and they would have disappeared long ago. She could hear him still, he was making a lot of noise following her. Not wise, considering where they were. Who knew what was out there? He was growing louder, and Arya quickly realised why, as she saw a shadow pass under the tree she was up in. She couldn't leave him out alone. He didn't know.

Arya sighed, and leapt from the tree, landing silently in the snow once more. Jon stiffened, and turned around, and Arya could tell he already knew it was her, from the look on his face, and how he didn't draw his sword.

"Arya, what the hell?" He growled, striding towards her. "You can't just leave like that, what were you thinking?"

Arya huffed. "Me? What were YOU thinking, making a racket where we are? Anything could have heard you!" She whispered. "This isn't Winterfell, Jon! You don't know what is out here!"

Jon growled angrily. "I don't know what's out here? I don't know what's out here?! Arya, I was a ranger for years, I was Lord Commander! I know the North better than most people ever do!"

"Then fucking act like it!" Arya hissed. "How did you find me, anyway, I know I didn't leave any tracks." Before he could even answer, Arya saw a hulking mass in the trees and knew. "You're one, too?" She asked, slightly surprised.

"Too?" Jon said. "You mean you're a Warg as well?" Arya nodded. "Makes sense. Bran is, and Rickon was. I bet Sansa would be, if Lady was still alive, and Robb." Arya shook her head.

"Jon, I'm not coming home with you," he looked as though he made to protest, but Arya cut across him. "I know, and I'm sorry. But if you truly knew what I had done since you saw me last... you would not want me either. I can't come home to Winterfell, and I won't."

"Arya, you're being ridiculous, you are coming home with me," Jon said, his voice thick and heavy with anger. "Winterfell is you're home, not this place."

"Damn right it isn't."

Arya whirled around, her blade already drawn, facing the trees. She heard Jon take out his behind her too. A figure emerged from the trees, but Arya couldn't see who it was, it was too dark.

"Who are you?" She demanded. The person laughed. Arya faltered slightly. Grisser.

"What are you doing here?" She spat, lowering her sword. However much he hated her, he would not kill her. Maeker would never let him. Besides, Arya was confident in her abilities to fight him and win should he try anything.

However, distracted as she was by Jon turning up. Arya failed to hear the slight crunch of snow underfoot. Failed to see two other shadows in the trees. She only noticed something was off when Grisser grinned behind her. She span just in time to see a figure attack Jon from behind. Before the figure could do anything, Arya had grabbed the dagger at her belt and thrown it across the clearing, landing in the persons shoulder. The person yelled, and dropped their crudely made sword as the dagger ripped through tendons ad flesh. A second figure came from the side, and Arya sprang forward to fight with Needle, her tiny sword sinking into the persons wrist, forcing them to drop their sword; Arya couldn't kill them, Maeker would go ballistic. Jon was fighting a third person, and Arya spun in confusion as she yanked her sword out of the groaning mans wrist mercilessly. What was going on? And then she saw it, the first person she had injured, standing up, and yanking her dagger out of their shoulder, before rushing at Jon's back whilst he fought. Arya threw Needle, as tiny as it was, with all of her strength, and watched as it sank into the mans throat, coming out the other side, and spraying hot, red blood onto the cold, white snow. Arya barely had time to register that she now had no weapon left to defend herself with when she was grabbed from behind, a person on each arm.

"Stop now, or she dies," Said Grisser calmly. Jon stopped, and turned around; his distraction was all that was needed for the wildling he had been fighting to rip Jon's sword out of his hand.

"Let her go," Jon said angrily, stepping forward, despite the sword held at his throat.

"Let her go? You know her, then?" Said Grisser, standing behind Arya, who snarled and writhed between the two men, one of them she recognised as being Thorinn. Grisser walked around her, and stood to face her, before he smiled and cupped her face in his big hand. Arya snapped at his fingers, and he smiled. He turned around to face Jon, ignoring Arya struggling behind him.

When he let her go, Arya thought, she would kill him, whether Maeker liked it or not. She really would cut off his cock, as she had promised to do last time he tried to get her. She would cut it off, and shove it down his throat, and slit his throat slowly.

"Of course I know her," Jon said impatiently.

"Oh?" Grisser said, in mock shock. "How?"

Jon stepped forward again, only to be halted by the sword at his neck once more. "She's my sister," Jon said, on the verge of yelling.

Grisser hummed, and walked closer to Jon. Arya hissed, and kicked at the two holding her in place, but she couldn't reach. The one she didn't know yanked harshly on her arm, and Arya felt something tear painfully.

"Her brother?" Grisser asked. "Oh. Well, that does change things, doesn't it?" Grisser sneered nastily back at Arya, who bared her teeth at him. He laughed. "Ahh look, the little girl is getting all upset. She does that," he laughed, "perhaps you should have a word with your sister. You see, I made her a generous offer once, the offer of letting me fuck her bloody, and do you know how she responded?" Jon made forwards, his hands rushing to his belt, only to find no sword there. Grisser laughed again. "She attacked me! She attacked me, and threatened me! Perhaps I should punish her now?" He made towards Arya, who snarled and growled. Grisser stooped in front of her and leered at her.

"Winterfell," he mused. "Now that does sound familiar. Why," he said, looking at Arya, "would that sound familiar? Your brother here mentioned it a moment ago. Said Winterfell is your home. Now, I may not be a learned man, but I'm pretty sure I know where Winterfell is, and who it belongs to. Now, I'm thinking, it can't be some coincidence that you have the same name as the lost princess over the wall, can it?" He breathed in her face, and Arya froze.

She had never told anyone beyond the wall who she really was. They all assumed that she was some commoner, no one important. They had all heard of the Lords daughters there that pranced around in silken dresses, and Arya had never behaved as such, so they had no reason to ever think that the rough girl with a sword was actually a princess. She had felt it better not to tell not only because who knew what would happen if they found out, but also because she wasn't that girl anymore, and if she wanted to move on from that person, what as the point in telling anyone who she really was?

Grisser chuckled at the panic in her eyes, and turned back to Jon. "Well, well, well. How unexpected. Now, I couldn't help but hear you little conversation earlier. You want her to leave here with you, right? But she won't come?" Jon nodded warily. "Well, on the Lady Arya's behalf, I will make you a deal." He stepped closer to Jon, who narrowed his eyes. "If you promise to take the little bitch with you beyond the wall, you will speak to the Watch about letting the free folk through your gate."

Jon appeared confused. "And how do you now that Arya will even come home with me? And if she does, how can you be sure that I won't go back on my word?"

Grisser chuckled. "I can assure you that Arya will be leaving here with you," he said.

"How?" Jon asked.

Grisser shrugged. "Like this," and before Arya could react, he swung a fist into her temple, and everything went black.

Jon sucked in air violently as Arya span to the side, her tiny form collapsing silently in the snow, her thick dark hair spreading around her head and face, tangling in her arms.

"We'll give you a horse, and you will take her, and your bloody wolves, and get out of here," Grisser said, shaking his fist out. "You will go to Castle Black, and you will speak to whatever cunt is running the place, and get them to let us through."

Jon tore his eyes from Arya's prone form. "You know that I can't make him change his mind on what to do? I will speak to him, but I can't guarantee he'll agree."

Grisser stared at him, a sick smile twisting on his face. "You will. Or we will storm that bloody castle, and when we do, there will be no mercy for your Winterfell, or any other castles." He sheathed his sword, and the others copied him. "Now take your sister, and go."

And with that, he backed into the darkness, and the others followed behind him. Jon picked up his sword, and rushed to Arya's side. She was out cold. She had saved his life over and over since he came to the North; spared him twice when she could have killed him, warned him not to be loud or they would be heard, and stopped him from being attacked from behind. Jon felt a surge of shame; it was supposed to be him looking after her. Not just her being unconscious there in the snow, but she shouldn't be in the north at all. Jon, picked her up, and carried her over to the horse that had been left behind as promised. He hoisted her up in front of him, leaning her back against his chest, her head lolling. It would be a long ride to the Wall, and to be honest, Jon hoped he would get there before she woke up, or there would be hell to pay...

* * *

"Ranger returning!" Yelled the watchman atop the wall, as the gate cranked open. Brothers stopped what they were doing, and crowded the gate, eager to see if Jon Snow had returned, and if he really had the mysterious Arya Stark in tow. There were murmurs in the crowd, some that he was the greatest ranger of the age, and surely he would have her, others that regardless of his skill, Arya might not have even been in the north to begin with.

A rider clopped through on a sweaty, puffing horse, and dismounted straight away; it was Jon Snow. And as he moved away from the horse, the crowd burst into speech and shock, for it was now visible that the infamous Arya Stark lay unconscious in his arms.


	6. Return of the Wolf

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING. LITERALLY. I HAVE TO BORROW PENS AT SCHOOL.  
Hello readers, what is up with you all? I know last chapter was shorter than I had promised, but it ended in a good place to stop. I have had a few good questions from some of you, and I will now answer a few: someone asked how I pictured Jon Snow and Arya Stark in this; it's a little weird I know, but I picture Jon as Kit Harrington (not the weird part) but not Arya as Maisie Williams; I love Maisie, and I think she portrays Arya really well, but I always pictured her different in the books, which I read before seeing the films. I kind of see Arya as more petite, with longer, thicker hair- just because as she grows up she is likened to her aunt Lyanna, and I picture her as very beautiful, as she is described, and as a result I picture Arya as also very beautiful, but in a very different way to Sansa, and Maergery, kind of beautiful. I kind of picture her as more wild looking. But with Jon, I straight up picture him as Kit Harrington, just because I pictured him that way, or close to, when I read the books. Anyway, just picture the characters in this as you choose to, but warning, Arya will described differently to Maisie- not because I don't think Maisie isn't beautiful, because she is, but I just see Arya differently. I hope that is cleared up :) Anyway, another question was about my time frame, when I wrote about Arya running from Jon to Skirling Pass the first time, after the battle; I know, and I apologise, it isn't very clear, but it was a few days journey. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, hopefully the story will progress a little faster now that Arya is on the other side of the Wall. Happy reading, Over and Out! xxx**

"Lord Commander, I was wondering if I might speak to you?"

Jon felt a little awkward, stood in the doorway as he was, but he was unsure exactly what else to do. Maybe he just felt uncomfortable because the room had once belonged to him.

"Of course, My Lord, come in," said Commander Hastings, reaching for a jug of wine, and pouring Jon a goblet that he accepted gratefully. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, Lord Commander, but I have a matter I must discuss with you," Jon said, taking a mouthful of wine. It was as disgusting as ever. "You see, when I as North of the wall, I met some Wildlings, and I thought what they had to say was very interesting. I wondered if you could tell me exactly why they are forced over that side of the wall? It's just, I DID invite them all over here, during the war, and as promised they did fight for us. So I don't understand why they had to go back?"

The commander sighed; he had clearly been anticipating the conversation. "I understand you're confusion. But I was not the one to force them back over. I am just doing my job, after all, they are the ones attacking us. Besides, the wildlings are just that; wild. We can't trust them; in the time after the war that they were here they caused havoc, and raised several rebellions. Moles Town is still recovering, as are parts of Last Hearth's lands. They are simply to wild to stay over here. Why do you ask?"

Jon swallowed some more wine. "I just think it's poor taste to go back on ones word; there are still things out there, beyond the wall, things that are dangerous. I think that if the Free Folk had a choice between living here and there, were there no danger, that they would choose to stay there; but they don't have a choice. Winter is barely over, and who knows what is out there now." The Commander sighed, and Jon took another mouthful of wine. "I know it isn't my place anymore, but I would suggest that you let them through; give them the land in the Gift, even if some of them are forced to man the castles on the wall, but I know that if offered, they will come over here. Then you wouldn't need to keep replacing me who died fighting them."

The Commander stood, and faced the window. "You see those new recruit out there?" Jon nodded. "If I sent them out beyond the wall, I have no doubt that the Wildlings would kill them. They're only boys. You see why we can't trust them?"

"We kill their boys too, though," Jon said. "We kill just as many of them as they do us. I know it's not my place to say, but I just thought that I would suggest it. I apologise if I came across as rude."

The Commander smiled. "Not at all, my Lord. I will consider what you have said, but I think a lot f the men here will be somewhat adverse to it. Anyway," he asked, pouring more wine, and offering Jon another helping, which he declined. "How is your sister? I have barely heard anything apart from gossip about her since you arrived."

Jon nodded. "I imagine I have disturbed the peace here a little by bringing her back. We should be out of you hair soon though. She hasn't woken up yet, the maester gave her a draught upon arrival so that she could heal up a little and get some rest before she has to deal with everything. I imagine it will be quite the shock to her."

The Commander bowed his head. "Yes, I imagine so. So how did you find her? Did the Wildlings have her captive?"

Jon shook his head. "No, my Lord. I don't know much more than you, in all honesty. I wouldn't be surprised by anything she told me though, at this point. I still can't believe that she's alive. I meant to ask you," Jon said quietly, "if you could ask the men to refrain from spreading the news that she is back? You see, I don't want her to be overwhelmed at all- or at least, any more than he already will be."

The Commander swallowed. "Ah. If I had known... of course I would not have... I assumed you would want the news out. I apologise, Lord Snow, but I already had ravens sent out." Jon groaned. "Word had already spread, though, there have been lot's of rumours while you were North of the Wall, and when you brought her back, I thought you would prefer that the right story got out, as opposed to whatever rumours had gotten out already."

Jon inclined his head, but before he could reply, the door burst open; a panicked looking steward was stood there, his breath coming out in pants.

"I'm sorry, m'Lords, I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen to me," he gushed, as Jon and the Commander stood up. "She's awake, but she's gone crazy, I had to shut her in her room!"

"Gods, boy, calm yourself," the Commander barked. "The Lady Arya is awake?" The boy nodded.

"Have you got the key?" Jon asked, the boy nodded and handed the key to him. Jon rushed from the room, the Commander on his heels. After a while, he could hear her, and his heart sank. He had known of course that she wouldn't be overly happy with being forced there, but Jon was sure that once she calmed down again she would understand, even be glad. Besides, he needed her.

If he hadn't known before which room was hers, he did now. He could practically see it shuddering as she barged into it from the other side. Jon winced as he listened to her raging, amongst the banging of the door as she hit it.

"You let me out, right now, or I swear I'll kill you! Where is my sword?! I need it! Let me out of this fucking room and give me my sword or I will kill you, I promise that! How dare you lock me up like some- some- some animal?! I'll kill all of you fucking cunts!" She screamed. Jon winced.

"Lord Commander, perhaps I should go in alone," Jon suggested gently. "She might not take well to guests right now."

"Very well," Hastings nodded. "Just be careful; she could have the North Fever." Jon gulped, and turned around to face the door as the commander walked away. He bashed his fist on the door three times. The banging from the other side stopped momentarily.

"Arya?" Jon called. "It's me, Jon. I'm coming in now, so can you move away from the door please?" There was silence, and then a slight shuffling noise. Jon slid the key into the hole, and waited a second, before pushing the door open. There was no one there.

"Arya?" He asked, but no sooner had the words fallen off of his lips than there was a crash, as something hard smashed him over the head. Jon grunted in pain, and sank to his knees, among pieces of the now broken chair.

"What the hell, Arya?" He groaned; his head was spinning. There was no reply.

Jon stood up, and ran to the door, just in time to see a tiny figure dart around a corner. Jon ran down the corridor, thudding after her; if she got her hands on a sword, and someone got in her way...

"Stop her!" He yelled, as two brothers came out of a door. The blinked and then gave chase, still somewhat unsure what they were chasing after. Jon rounded the corner, and faltered as he reached the stairs, unable to believe what he as seeing; Arya had wrapped herself in a bed sheet, and nothing else, not even boots, and was running across the courtyard, as if she didn't even notice the men all staring at her.

"STOP HER!" Jon yelled, running after her. No one seemed to react for a second, before they all rushed about, forming a huge circle around her. Jon pushed his way to the middle, and felt the blood drain from his face at the sight of his younger sister.

"Get out of my way!" She shouted, brandishing a sword that she must have picked up. She looked slightly ridiculous, but no one was laughing. She was standing, barefoot in the snow and mud, wearing nothing but a bed sheet, her hair tumbling in waves down her back, spitting mad, and holding a sword that was far too big for her.

"Arya," he said calmly, even though he felt anything but. "Arya put down the sword."

She span, and Jon was shocked to see her expression, her eyes wide, and brows pulled down over them, lips pulled back in a snarl. "You!" She yelled. "How could you?! You knew- you KNEW- that I didn't want to come back, I told you, and you dared to bring me here, while I was UNCONSCIOUS?!"

Jon gulped. "Arya, why don't you put down the sword, and come inside with me? You'll freeze to death in that. Please Arya, put the sword down." Jon knew it was ridiculous, but he didn't want to go too close while she had that sword. He had seen what she could do.

"Come inside? Come inside?!" Arya screamed. "I don't want to go inside, I want my weapons, I want my wolf, and I want to leave!"

"Leave? To where?" Jon asked, starting to feel a little impatient. "You can't go back North, it isn't safe."

"IT WAS SAFE UNTIL YOU TOLD THEM WHO I WAS!" Arya screamed, brandishing the sword. Jon took a step back.

"Regardless, it isn't safe now; if you go back there they will either kill you, or they will hold you ransom, and I will come and get you, and bring you back here anyway," Jon said loudly. "And if you don't go North, where would you go? No one knows you anymore, your only safe place would be Winterfell, where I'm taking you anyway."

"I have other places to go," Arya snapped. "Give me my stuff and I will go to them."

"Arya, please, come inside, and we'll give you something to wear," Jon tried to reason. This whole situation had passed ridiculous minutes ago.

"Something.. to.. wear?" She hissed. "Something to wear?! I have my own clothes, Jon, and I want them back, with my things!"

"Arya, I'm not giving you weaponry when you're in this state," Jon reasoned. "Just put that sword down, and come inside. What are you gong to do, attack all of us? There are at least a hundred of us, and one of you. And what then, you'll hurt me? Because I don't think you would, Arya."

"Oh?" She said coldly. "And what makes you think that?"

"Because you had the chance to before, and you didn't," Jon said loudly. "So no, I don't think you will hurt me. Please Arya. Just come inside."

The silence was deafening as Arya stood completely still in the middle of the large circle. Jon let out a sigh, when her grip on the sword seemed to soften slightly. He took a step towards her.

And then suddenly she broke out of all bounds, and screamed a scream of pure rage and frustration, before she turned and raised the sword as if to throw it, causing some of the Nightswatch to gasp and move out of the way quickly. But instead Arya slammed the point of the sword into the ground, and sunk to her knees in the snow, her hands still grasping the pommel, and her head bowed and lent against the blade.

Jon swallowed, and moved towards her, enveloping her in his arms, and taking the sword from her hands. She didn't struggle as Jon lead her away, holding onto her tightly, covering her in his cloak so she didn't freeze to death.

* * *

Arya refused to look at him. She couldn't. Instead she glared at the fire, as if it had committed her some unforgivable wrong. When she had woken up, Arya hadn't known where she was, and had lain in the bed as her memories slowly came back to her. The plan. Jon being there. The mountain side, and the cave. Running from him, and the nightmare she had. Waking up to find him, and be attacked by Grisser. Being knocked unconscious.

She had panicked, worried that she had somehow been captured and taken back to camp, and labelled a traitor. That Grisser had killed Jon. She had sat up hastily, only to be pushed down by that boy, who kept calling her "m'Lady" and was dressed all in black. Then Arya had known. That Jon had brought her back somehow.

Arya was still wrapped up in his cloak, even though it was far too big for her. It was better than the bed sheet, which now lay sodden and muddy on the floor. Jon sat opposite her, in front of the fire.

"Arya," he said quietly. "Look at me. Please."

Arya looked at him slowly. His face paled at her expression, and she went back to staring at the fire. He didn't say anything for a long while, and neither did she. What could be said? "I'm very sorry that I kidnapped you while you were unconscious, and brought you here despite you clearly and repeatedly saying you didn't want to come," or in her case "I hate you, but I love you, I want to kill you, but I can't". It was easier to be silent.

It was a long time before Jon said anything again. "Arya, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I don't even know what else to say to you. I had no choice-"

"Yes you did," Arya said quietly. "You could have listened to me. You could have let me stay. Now I have nowhere to go."

"Please Arya, will you stop this?" Jon said to her. Arya still didn't look at him. "I don't understand, I really don't. If I were you, and I had been through what you have, I would want to go home to my family."

"But you're not me, Jon, and you haven't been through what I have been through." Arya said, monotonously.

"Then tell me!" Jon almost shouted with exasperation. "Tell me so that I can even try to understand!"

Arya finally looked at him. "If I told you... you would hate me. Besides, there is too much to say."

"Then tell me the beginning. Just tell me some of it, and the rest can wait," Jon pleaded. "I told you my story, I told you everything, when we were in the cave, and you won't even tell me a little bit. Please, Arya. I have spent the last ten years not knowing if you were dead or alive. Please."

Arya swallowed, and Jon tilted his head into his hands. Arya closed her eyes. The pain in his voice tore at her, but Arya didn't want to talk about her past, didn't even want to think about it. Jon grabbed her hand, and Arya let him hold it.

"Even just where you have been, Arya," He said. "Not the story until you're ready, but at least tell me where you've been all these years."

Arya looked at him. "Kings Landing," she said, simply.

Jon creased his brow in confusion. "Kings Landing? But how did Cersei not find you? The whole city was swarming with Gold Cloaks looking for you."

"I didn't stay in Kings Landing. After father was... I travelled to a village on the Godseye." Arya faltered a little, and looked at Jon. The next bit of her tale was unpleasant; she almost left it out, but what if he heard about it later? He would wonder why she hid it from him, and then think that maybe she was hiding other things too. Arya took a deep breath. "Then... Harrenhal," she said, watching his face carefully.

At first it didn't seem to register on his face, but Arya could read the signs; clenched jaw, pupils tightened, body stiffened. Arya waited, knowing what was going through his mind.

"How long?" He whispered harshly.

"Long enough," Arya said. "Too long." He closed his eyes in pain, and Arya moved on, her hand clenching around the chair arm. "After Harrenhal I went to the Inn at the Kneeling Man, and from there to Lord Lychester's Keep. I soon moved on to High Heart, and then Acorn Hill. I stayed only a little while before I travelled to Stoney Sept, then Hollow Hill."

"I don't understand," Jon interrupted. "Why go to those places? Lord Lychester, Acorn Hill... what was there for you?"

"You promised I didn't have to share my story yet," Arya said, glancing at him. He bit his lip, and Arya carried on. "From Hollow Hill I moved to Lord Harroway's Town, and... and the Twins." For a second Jon looked confused, and then terrified, but Arya ploughed on before he could ask. Now was not the time. "From the Twins I went through The Mountains, and the Eyrie, and then the Inn at the Crossroads. From there I travelled to the Saltpans, where I got a ship to Braavos. I was in Braavos for a long time.

"After Braavos I spent time in other areas of Essos. Pentos. Lorath. Lys. Myr. I even went to Valyria. Then I... ended up in Slavers Bay. I was moved from place to place, never staying long. Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen. Not long after I... left Slavers Bay I spent some time amongst the Dothraki in the Dothraki Sea, but not for long. I moved on... travelling to the Shadow Lands of Asshai. I spent a lot of time there before I was able to work my way back across Essos, and caught another ship...

"I worked my way North through Westeros, making a few... stops, along the way. When I was finished I caught another ship, and voyaged to Hardhome, and made my way to the Land of Always Winter, before travelling South to help the Free Folk... and that is where you found me, after a year, maybe less. And now I'm here," Arya finished, finally meeting his eye.

Jon had barely moved from where he'd been a minute ago, his expression unchanged except for his eyes having widened a little. When he didn't say anything Arya stroked the fur of her borrowed cloak between her fingers, and gulped down some ale. It wasn't great but it was better than other things she had had.

 _At least it won't make me go blind,_ she thought bitterly.

"You... really went to all those places?" Jon asked. Arya nodded.

"And a few more," she added thoughtfully, "but they don't matter too much."

Jon was quiet for a while. "You have seen a lot, haven't you?" Arya nodded. "It's why you don't want to come home to Winterfell?" Arya bit her lip.

"It's not that I don't want to come home," she replied. "I just don't think I really belong anywhere anymore. I've travelled for most of my life, never having a place to call home. But it's been so long since I was at Winterfell that I'm not sure that even there is home anymore."

Jon grasped her hands, and leaned forwards, his eyes imploring. Arya swallowed. "Come back with me," he said. "You might feel better when you're back. And you won't be a prisoner there, you could leave whenever you wanted to."

Arya looked away from him biting her lip. How many years had she spent dreaming of Winterfell? She had not thought on the place properly in years, but seeing Jon brought back so many memories; her father watching from the balconies, and telling tales to his children in front of the fire. Robb's loud, boisterous laugh, and how he was so full of energy, always up for anything that involved fun. Bran climbing anything in reach, and Rickon tumbling behind Shaggy-dog. Sansa and her friends picking flowers and talking about their needlework.

Even then Arya had always been the outsider.

She wasn't allowed to join in with Jon and Robb and Theon on account of being a girl, being too small and young. She wasn't allowed to train with Bran and the other boys, and Rickon was too young. Sansa and her friends made it clear she was unwelcome with them. She had been alone long before the war begun.

But, she thought, as Jon shuffled beside her, that was not strictly true. For he had been an outsider too, and who was it Arya had always turned to when she was angry or upset? Jon had always been there for her, and now he needed her, and she wasn't there for him. Arya turned her eyes to his, such a dark grey they were almost black, identical to her own. They had seen more than when she had last seen him, that was true, but in them Arya could still see remnants of the boy who had held her hand when she was sad, who had ruffled her hair and made her feel loved.

Arya had lived a life of solitude for so long that she was unsure how she would fare with being in company again. It would be difficult, undoubtedly, and people would talk. The idea made her want to flee, whether it be to the never ending expanse of the North, or the mysterious Shadow Lands of Asshai. But she wouldn't do that. She would be there for Jon, just as he had always been there for her as children.

It was with this thought in mind, that Arya swallowed, and nodded very slowly.

* * *

Gendry wiped sweat from his brow impatiently, ignoring the way his shirt stuck to the skin of his back. In the intensive Stormland heat Gendry had grown used to the weather- besides, growing up in the blazing armory in Kings Landing, heat was no stranger to Gendry. All the time he had been in the North he had ached for hot rays of sun against his skin.

The smithy at Storm's End had been in a state of disrepair when Gendry had arrived. It had been the first place he had gone to alone, and despite its ruined state, he had been elated. The smithy was in a quiet part of the fortress, with a thick wooden door set into white and cream stone. A large circular fire pit stood in the centre of the room, and various tools and equipment hung on hooks, and lay on tables. The room was no more than a large lean to, with one side only stone half way up, and then wooden beams supporting the roof, so that the room had an open feel to it. Gendry had fallen in love immediately.

He had not allowed anyone to help him with tidying up the place, content to work on it alone. He hadn't set foot in a Smithy in a long while, or at least, not a proper one. Immediately, Gendry had begun fashioning things; swords, hammers, armour. He had considered making himself a new helmet, seeing as his bull one had gone missing long ago, perhaps one with antlers that would show who he really was on the battlefield. In the end he fashioned a plain one; well made and fine, made of black steel that shone under the sun, but he had left out any additions. He had made some armour for himself to, though only gauntlets, and chest plate; he preferred to fight in leather, as it allowed for far more movement than armour.

When Gendry ran out of things to make for himself, he made things for others; fixing helmets and armour for his men, making horse shoes, and parts for wagons, arrow tips, and any other thing that needed doing.

However when Gendry wasn't in the forge he was busy being the Lord of Storm's End, running the castle, governing his lands, trying to establish peace. He had been meeting with his banner men of late, and found them difficult to work with at first; they had known each other for many years, and Gendry was the outsider. However, once they had been persuaded that he was worthy, they had warmed up to him, and Gendry was due to meet with them... in about ten minutes.

Gendry cursed as he remembered, and dropped the heavy hammer he had been working on. He slammed the door behind him, and all but ran to his chambers, taking off his filthy stinking clothes, soaked with sweat and covered in soot and grime, and grabbed a clean shirt to pull on, when he considered that maybe a quick wash would be in order. As there was no time for a bath Gendry made do with dipping some cloth in water and just wiping himself over, getting rid of as much filth as he could.

Just as he grabbed some black britches and began to pull them on there came a knock on the door, causing Gendry to stumble and curse.

"Is everything alright M'Lord?" Came a boys voice from the other side.

"Fine," He called through, yanking one leg through the britches. "What is it?" If something held him up further when he needed to make this good impression...

"Lords Selmy and Tarth have arrived, M'Lord," the boy called, pausing when Gendry swore. "Ser Davos sent me to inform you. They await you in your solar's study."

Gendry yanked a tan leather doublet, and laced it up, followed by knee high boots. He scraped his jet black hair back and sighed at his reflection; he was decent, but he knew he still looked scruffy. Well, there was no time to do anything about it; besides, Gendry didn't have any fancy clothes similar to what they would be wearing anyway.

"M'Lord?" the boy called again, just as Gendry yanked the door open with force. The boy stumbled back in surprise. He was tall, though nowhere near Gendry's height, and skinny, with wavy brown hair and brown eyes. Gendry recognised him from the stables, a boy called Jayce.

"No need to tell Ser Davos I'm coming, I'll go directly," Gendry said. "Tell you what, could you ready my horse for me? There's no rush, but I think I shall go for a ride later, after this meeting. Be sure that his tack is clean and ready. You know the horse?"

Jayce's face lit up in delight at being asked to attend to a lords horse, and nodded. "I know him, M'Lord, the big black one, goes by name Rogue. I'll have him ready, I swear." And with an odd jerk of his body that Gendry thought could have been some kind of bow, and marched away as fast as he could.

Gendry blinked and shook his head; he was still unused to people taking his orders without any questions asked. Dismissing the boys odd behavior, Gendry strode towards his study, his unnaturally long legs clearing the distance with ease. He opened the heavy wooden door, and walked inside, attempting to clear his head of everything in it.

Lord Selwyn Tarth was a tall man, though not overly tall, with wavy blonde hair. He was a strict man, but fair, and Gendry had heard of ho he doted on his daughter, Brienne, hen she was a child. Gendry had met Brienne before, and liked her well; he had heard of her famed ugliness, and had been surprised to see that whilst she was no beauty, she was not the horror that she was fabled to be. She was currently in the North somewhere, sworn to Sansa Stark.

Lord Barristan Selmy was a different story; he was an honourable man, served for a long time in the Kings Guard, until his enforced retirement, upon whence he served Daenerys Targaryen, still fiercely loyal to her. He was a hard man to impress, though Gendry knew that once you had his approval, he was loyal.

"M'Lords, my apologies for my lateness," He offered, closing the door behind him and stepping in to the room. One side of the room had high arched windows, with black iron cross sections, and the rest of the room was plainly decorated; his desk stood in the middle of the far end of the room, and a stone hearth was opposite the windows. Candle holders littered the walls, and a small table stood in the corner, with a jug of wine and small cakes.

"Nothing to worry about, Lord Baratheon," said Tarth, bowing his head slightly. Selmy nodded his head in agreement, but did not say anything, clearly unimpressed with Gendry's lateness. "I must say, you have done well since you have moved in here; last I was here must have been after your uncle, Renly, died."

Gendry smiled in gratitude. "It's not been an easy task, M'Lord, but I believe we're making progress. At least, the villages seem to be doing a lot better nowadays." He moved around the desk, and poured two glasses of wine, offering them to the other two men, who accepted them gratefully.

"You're not having one yourself, My Lord?" asked Selmy, looking slightly suspicious. Gendry smiled, and dipped his head as he sat down, the other two men following his pursuit.

"I try to stay away from it where I can," he said. "I prefer to keep a clear head, and besides, I prefer ale," he admitted. He cleared his throat. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask, m'Lords, if you have had any problems with bandits and raiders recently? I'm sure you are aware of how the Stormland's were affected before my arrival."

Tarth nodded his head. "I have not had a problem in my lands, though we aren't exactly in an easy place for bandits to raid, with the waters surrounding us on all edges. I have heard of raids though, in Tumbleton."

"We have had a little," Selmy said gruffly. "Though not in a while. Reckon word of a new Baratheon scared them off. They'll be back though. They never stay away long when there is food to be pillaged, and gold to be stole."

Gendry inclined his head. "Should you continue to have a problem send a raven to Storm's End, and we'll send aid."

Before anymore could be said about alliances or agreements, there came knock at the door. Gendry sighed and called whoever it was in. However instead of Davos, as Gendry had expected, it was a messenger, who moved to Tarth, and whispered something in his ear, before leaving. Tarth's eye's widened, and his face paled.

"My Lord?" Asked Selmy, as intrigued pertaining the other lords reaction as Gendry was.

"A raven arrived at Tarth," the lord said. "From Winterfell." Gendry sat up straighter.

"It seems that Eddard Starks daughter has been found. Arya Stark is coming home to Winterfell."


	7. Lost and Found

**DISCLAIMER: Need I do this every time? I own nothing. If I owned A Song of Ice and Fire I would be able to stop borrowing my friends clothes. And have my own pens.  
Aight, last chapter was a long one, hoping this one will be a similar length... I never know, I don't plan, I just kind of write stuff as it enters my head with no plan of what will happen. I guess we'll find out what happens soon enough, once I've written the chapter you are about to read. Anyway, seeing as I don't know what is about to happen, I hope you enjoy whatever is about to happen. Oh, and I need to apologise; I went back and read through the last few chapters, and noted a few errors- I don't know if you remember from last time I said, but my keyboard is still broken on my laptop, so certain letters don't always type, mostly "W", sometimes "H" and "S". Hope there aren't too many problems. Oh, "O" doesn't always work either, lol. Anyways, Over and Out xxx**

Two days later, Arya found herself walking down the stairs, into the training yard, where Jon and the Stark men he had brought with him before venturing North, were waiting with their horses. She finally had her clothes back, after Jon had insisted they were washed- it had felt odd to have properly clean clothes; for the last eight years of her life she had dealt with occasionally washing them in streams or rivers, if she had the chance.

She found the gathering near the stables, noting that she didn't recognise a single one of the men. The thought made her a little sad, only reminding her that Winterfell now was not the Winterfell she remembered.

"Arya," Jon said, with a small smile. "I've sent word to Sansa that we are due to leave today; it should take us about two weeks to get there, and I'm sure that Sansa will want everything perfect for your arrival."

Arya swallowed; the idea of seeing her sister thrilled her, but it also terrified her. What if things were as they had been before? Or worse? Besides, she had hoped her arrival would be as quiet a transition as possible, she didn't want any fuss or bother. "I wish you hadn't, big brother," Arya sighed, "It will all be a nightmare, and if there are any signs of a fuss I will flee!"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Arya, you are a princess, your people want to welcome you," he said, "you should let them."

As Arya stroked the horse she was to borrow, a striking dark dappled mare, she bit her lip. "So are you truly a king then? King in the North? Like Robb was?"

Jon smiled a small smile, stroking his own stallions face. "Yes; I never asked to be king, but here I am," he swallowed, and creased his brow slightly.

Arya frowned. "What is it?" She asked, confused as to her brother sudden change of mood.

Jon shrugged, and patted his horse. "Well... soon I shall be more than King in the North." When Arya looked confused, he elaborated. "You remember Daenerys Stormborn, of house Targaryen?"

Arya chewed her lip. "I do," she said. She hadn't thought on the Dragon Queen for quite some time, and the thought of the beautiful woman troubled her. She hadn't exactly met her, and she doubted the queen even remembered her, but there had been that incident once, long ago...

"Well," Jon started, but he was forced to stop as Lord Commander Hastings approached. Jon stepped forward. "Lord Commander," he said. "I thank you, for everything. I am truly grateful for your hospitality towards myself and my sister."

The Commander laughed. "It was nothing, your Grace," he said. "It is not often times that we play host to a King, and once brother."

Jon smiled. "Should the Nightswatch ever need anything, don't be afraid to come to Winterfell; should you need men, swords, supplies, House Stark will do what it can to help."

"My thanks, Your Grace," the Commander said, with a small bow of his head.

Jon turned to the Stark men. "I believe it is time we leave," he said in a loud voice. "Summer may have begun, but the day will soon be over, and I wish to get to Moles Town before dark, if not further. It is unlikely we will be accosted on the road, but we need to draw as little attention as possible. People will have heard of my sisters return, and will no doubt be interested."

He turned back to the Lord Commander, as the men mounted their steeds. "Well, I am sure we shall meet again soon, Lord Commander," he said, offering his hand.

The commander took it, and shook it tightly. "I hope you travel safe, your Grace."

Jon nodded with a smile, and mounted his horse, a huge bay. Arya followed lead and mounted the grey mare. The saddle felt both familiar and strange at once; she had not been atop a horse in a while; Arya remembered how much she used to adore riding, how she would send her mother into fits of panic with her recklessness.

As the gates opened the small party began to trot through, so Arya clucked her tongue, and the mare sprang forwards into an eager trot. Arya found herself adapting very quickly to her trot, the familiar rise and fall, the feeling of her weight in the stirrups. As the group cleared the castle grounds at a steady trot, Jon called to speed up a little, so Arya nudged the mare with her heels, and raised herself from the saddle as she moved swiftly into a canter. Arya grinned as she moved fast, wind blowing back her hair; by the Gods, she had forgotten how good it felt to ride.

The moved fast across the land, and it occurred to Arya that she was actually in the North- not the Land Beyond The Wall, but HER North. The North she had known as a child. The landscape around her was so familiar, and yet so strange at the same time- just like everything seemed to be now- the hills, and forests to the West, and the plains and fieldland to the East. The sky was that grey colour that hinted on white and blue mixed together, the grass crunchy and stiff with frost. Wind rolled over the hills and over the small company as they rode, and even the smell was familiar to her.

They stopped to break a few times, but not for long, just enough to rest the horses. Arya found herself aching painfully, unused to being in the saddle for so long; the idea frustrated her, seeing as she had travelled on horseback over great distances before.

* * *

When they were readying for camp that night Jon noticed her wince in pain as she carried some logs to the fire. As she piled them on, Jon noticed it as how Ned Stark had taught all of his sons to do it, stacking kindling in the middle to allow the flame to grow there, forming a lattice. He wondered how she had picked it up; surely Lady Stark would not have liked to know her daughter was learning how to make camp. Perhaps Robb, or even Theon, had taught her, or Ned in secret from his wife. It bothered Jon slightly; he was usually the one who taught her stuff in secret.

He sat beside her on his cloak, and watched her as she stared into the flames. He frowned; she did that a lot. She would stare into the flames with a vacant expression on her face, as if she was somewhere else, somewhere far away...

"Why did you wince, just now?" He asked. She didn't seem to react in anyway, her expression not showing she had even heard his question. Sometimes it was like she was made of stone, as hard and immovable as the North- no, as if she was carved out of ice. Yet other times Jon could swear she was made out of wildfire, raging and uncontrollable.

* * *

"It's nothing," she brushed off, pulling a skin from her hip and taking a swig of it. It was only water; she would drink if there was nothing else to drink, but she had always hated the taste of any kind of alcohol.

"It's not nothing," Jon said, sounding slightly irritated. Arya tried to stop herself from rolling her eyes at him. It really WAS nothing. Not compared to other things she had suffered. Arya was just glad that THAT old wound had not pained her in front of Jon, or he really would have an uproar.

"Jon, it's nothing to worry about," she said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. "I'm just stiff from riding, is all."

Jon blinked. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about it," he said, causing Arya to frown in confuse, "we'll ride more softly tomorrow."

Arya bit her tongue to refrain from snapping. "I don't need you to slow the pace, I'm perfectly fine. I'm just not as used to the saddle as I used to be, that's all." She didn't mention her arm still ached from where it had been yanked harshly. Jon frowned, but didn't say anything. As Arya watched her older brother she remembered their unfinished conversation from earlier. "What did you mean earlier? When you said you would be more than King in the North soon? When you mentioned Daenerys Targaryen?"

Arya blinked in surprise as Jon gulped. What in seven hells could he dread telling her? He had already told her his story... hadn't he?

"There are still a few things that I have to tell you," Jon said quietly, "and they'll be quite the shock. You remember the tale of Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapping our aunt Lyanna?"

This time Arya allowed herself to roll her eyes. "Of course. Caused Roberts Rebellion."

Jon nodded slowly. "Well... Robert didn't have it all right. Rhaegar didn't kidnap Lyanna, or rape her. They were married, in secret."

Arya had not expected THAT. She blinked, while the thought formed in her mind. She wanted to ask questions, but instead signalled for Jon to continue.

He smiled, clearly understanding her surprise. "They met at a Tourney, at Harrenhal, and fell in love. They married in secret, and she became pregnant with his babe soon after. They knew that if Robert found out about it he would rage, seeing as he loved her so, so Rhaegar hid her away. Of course, Robert, and our father, assumed that he had kidnapped her, and the war started. After it was won, and Rhaegar had been killed at the Trident, father went to the Tower of Joy, in Dorne, and found her there. She had just given birth to a son, Rhaegar's son. But she was gravely ill, and nothing could be done. She made father promise her..." Jon faded off, staring into the fire.

Arya waited for him to start again, but when he didn't she gave him a prompt, although she had a good idea of where this would go. "What did he promise, Jon?"

Jon didn't look at her. "She made him promise to take her son, and say he was his own son, to save him; if Robert had found out that a Targaryen lived, infant or not, Lyanna knew he would have it killed. So Ned called him his bastard son," Jon said.

Arya nodded. She had suspected something like this for a long while. "And father named that boy Jon Snow."

Jon snapped his head around to her in shock, surprised that she had worked it out. Arya smiled. "Well, I didn't expect it to be to this magnitude, but I suspected for a long time that you weren't actually fathers son. I assumed you were a distant relative whose parents couldn't look after you for some reason. Besides, you have a brother, correct?" Jon nodded, dumbfounded. "I met him once. On a ship. Went by the name of Young Griff at the time. He had the looks of a Targaryen even then, with violet eyes and silver hair. I didn't see it at the time, though looking back I feel a fool for not having noticed it.

"Oh," she said, thinking back even further. "I also met a boy called Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall now, and he told me how he and you were milk brothers, because his mother didn't have enough milk, so he nursed from a woman called Wyla, who was apparently your mother... but the timing didn't work out. He was younger than you, so you would not have still been nursing when he was a babe. Father must have entrusted you to her care for a time before he came home to Winterfell with you."

Jon blinked at her in surprise. Arya smiled wrily. "So now that's cleared up, what about you becoming more than King in the North? I assume that seeing as you're actually a Targaryen you'll take the Iron throne now, to make up the Three Headed Dragon, with Daenerys and Aegon?"

"I...I...Well... yes, that's the essence of it," Jon said, shaking his head. "I'm- well, I'm also getting married, Arya."

It was Arya's turn to be surprised. She hadn't even thought that he could be betrothed, or already married. How little she knew of her own family! "Who to?" She asked, a little weary. Why was he nervous to tell her?

He cleared his throat. "Daenerys. Targaryen."

Arya sucked in a breath. Again, she had NOT expected that. She fought to not screw up her nose; Daenerys was his aunt. Then she thought, as Jon studied her reaction, that it wasn't that uncommon. Lot's of people married cousins, and distant relatives, and it wasn't like Daenerys was an old aunt. Thinking about it, she must actually be younger than Jon, by a year or two, if Arya remembered her facts right.

But the thought of Jon being married... it was just an odd thought. When she thought of Jon Arya thought of her worldly wise fourteen year old brother from years ago, that Arya had never even seen talk to a girl before... although he was hardly like to talk to a nine year old about his relationships.

"Wow," Arya said, taken a back. "That's... really great Jon. I'm happy for you, truly." She was unsure what else to say, so she smiled at him.

Jon seemed to melt as he relaxed, clearly happy with her reaction to the news. "The wedding won't be for a while, in Kings Landing, seeing as I'll be moving in there soon as King. You'll come, won't you?" He smiled nudging her.

Arya smiled back and nodded weakly, but inside she was frozen. Move to Kings Landing? What about her? She didn't want to go back there, but she didn't want to live alone in Winterfell either, seeing as doubtless Sansa would be moving away soon for marriage... everything seemed as complicated and impossible as before again. Arya STILL didn't have a home, despite Jon's promises.

* * *

Sansa touched the letter in her pocket with a small smile on her face, as she watched the hustle and bustle in the yard below; men were building and strengthening walls and structures, shovelling muck and mud into carts to clear the floor, and hanging banners along the parapets and walls, while women shooed geese and hens and all the other animals into the barns. Sansa knew that the kitchens would be in a riot as well, cooks preparing more dishes than Sansa could name; a man was currently washing away blood from where some ducks had been slaughtered.

The feast would be magnificent; Sansa had invited many Northern Lords and Ladies, all of whom had agreed to come without hesitation, no doubt curious to see if the mysterious Arya Stark would really be there; the last two weeks had been nothing but people gossiping about Sansa's younger sister. The common folk told tales of her to their children, and those who had met her announced it loudly and often. It was no different among the high folk; indeed, Sansa had been very busy replying to multitudes of letters, asking for confirmation that Arya was truly coming home- Sansa had even had several letters requesting her sisters hand in marriage, all of which she had declined, stating that Arya needed time before any decisions were made.

Sansa smiled as she walked along the balcony observing the madness below; everything looked perfect. The horses had been groomed until they shone, the yard had been swept until there wasn't a speck of dirt. The whole castle was the same, and Sansa had personally oversaw the ongoings in Arya's bedchambers. The room had been left alone for many years; the Bolton's never used it, and for the year or so that Sansa and Jon had taken back Winterfell, it had been left alone, on Sansa's orders. It had felt wrong to use the room for anything when her sister wasn't there, and Sansa couldn't bring herself to even let the maids in to dust it. She knew that Jon felt the same; he actively avoided any area of the castle that reminded him of Arya.

But when Sansa had received the letter from Castle Black two weeks ago, she had immediately had Arya's chambers seen to; the first time she went in there the room had smelt strongly of dust and stale air; ashes were still in the fire place, and candles half burnt out lined the walls. Sansa had had to stifle a smile when she saw the state of the bed, here a nine year old Arya had clearly not bothered to make the bed. Now the room was clean and warm, and sweet smelling with incense and candles. Sansa had had a new mattress brought in, and new blankets and bed curtains; a new rug as in front of the now swept out hearth; a small table had been prepared with a jug of wine and fruit and small cakes. The book cases had been restocked, and a copper bath tub had been placed in front of the fire, with soft towels and soaps. Sansa had filled Arya's chests with beautiful dresses and cloaks, although Sansa had had to guess the sizes, having no idea how tall her sister would be. Sansa had even sewn Arya a dress herself, a beautiful red dress, if she remembered Arya's colouring. Sansa had thought of everything; she wanted everything to be perfect for her sister.

The watchman blew a horn, and the gates opened, and Sansa watched on as hordes of horses came galloping through, bearing banners of the houses she had invited; Karstark, Umber, Mormont, Glover, Reed, and many others, some she was sure she hadn't even invited. After the Lords on their horses, and their men and knights, came the small folk, streaming in; the yard would soon be full. Arya would be so surprised to see them all there, so happy. Sansa smiled to herself as she went to greet the lords of the North; she couldn't wait to see her sisters face.

* * *

Arya felt a shiver run over her as she saw the towers of Winterfell in the distance; she hadn't been there in so long, yet she remembered it perfectly. She could picture it in her minds-eye; tall, and beautiful, built with grey stones, surrounded by grassland, with hills to the west, and forests to the south, and field land to the east. Beautiful, yet strong. Welcoming, yet cold. Arya was unsure how she felt returning to Winterfell; she was happy, yes, yet apprehensive. What if it was different to how she remembered? She would barely recognise anyone there.

She halted the horse at the crest of the hill, and stared wide eyed as the full castle of her youth came into view. She could barely even form a thought, or anything to say as Jon halted his stallion beside her; he seemed to understand though, for he said nothing for a long while, letting her drink it all in in her own time.

Eventually Arya was brought out of her reverie, by Jon's words to the men behind them, who were impatient to leave. She shook her head slightly. "No it's fine," she said, making herself look away, "let's go."

Jon regarded her carefully and then nodded, and the party rode on at a gallop, Arya in the lead. Part of her knew that Jon had quietly ordered the others to wait behind a bit, so that she might enter the castle for the first time alone. Arya was grateful. As they neared there was a shout from atop the gate, and a horn blown, and the gates opened wide. Arya felt a cold shiver as she passed through them.

Then she saw the crowd.

People, hundreds, lining the yard as she pulled up in the middle. The yard was silent but Arya felt hundreds of pairs of eyes watching her as she took in the yard, although she paid them no notice. She felt like she had been doused in cold water as she stared around her, thousands of memories flooding her at once. They all flashed in front of her eyes so fast she couldn't separate them, and so slowly they took years each. Just seeing the Stark banners threw her violently back into the past, a whole world away.

She barely noticed when Jon and the others caught up and dismounted. She barely noticed when Jon spoke to her, his voice lost in echoes of laughter from her childhood.

"Arya... Arya?... Arya?!"

Arya looked down; Jon had dismounted and had grabbed her thigh, looking concernedly up at her from the ground.

Arya flushed, and dismounted smoothly, barely noting a stablehand take away her horse.

"Arya? Are you alright?" Jon asked, holding her shoulder. Arya couldn't form words, so lost was she in her memories, so she simply nodded. Someone approached, a girl, beautiful with auburn hair and high cheekbones. At first Arya barely recognised her, but there was no mistaking her. It was Sansa. The last time she had seen her older sister Sansa had been eleven years old; she would be nineteen now.

"Arya?" She asked uncertainly. Arya nodded, and swallowed, stunned by how different her sister appeared.

Sansa made a small choking sound and flung herself at Arya, who flinched a little, before wrapping her arms around her sister. Sansa wept into Arya's hair, mumbling words that Arya couldn't work out. It felt odd to hold someone like this; Arya had been so starved of human affection that it felt alien to hug someone.

It was several minutes before Sansa stepped aside sniffling. Arya was wide eyed, she felt slightly disconcerted by everything, and she felt her face slip into that unreadable mask that as habit now. Jon took her arm, steering her over a little, to a boy sat in a wheelchair. Arya didn't need to look at him to know who he was; her twin, Bran. She approached him, unsure as to whether she should hug him or not; last she saw him he had been in a coma in bed.

"Arya," he said quietly, "It's good to see you." Arya leaned down carefully, and hugged him, her cheek brushing against his. When she stood up straight again there was a girl, a little older than Arya perhaps, stood beside Bran. She didn't know who she was, but the girl smiled.

Suddenly, and violently, Arya remembered the large crowd watching her. First seeing Winterfell, then seeing Sansa and Bran... it was becoming too much. Arya felt uncomfortable with everyone watching her, she had striven for years to blend in, be unnoticeable, but now everyone was watching her, everyone knew who she was. Arya felt a bubble of panic inside her, and soon every face in the crowd blurred, and formed new faces, There was Cersei at the front, staring at her coldly, and Meryn Trant, and every other person she had hated, every person that had wanted to find her, every person that had ever wanted her dead.

Jon tapped her on the shoulder, and she whipped around to face him, her hand flying to her sword. Jon appeared taken a back. "Arya? What's wrong?"

Arya shook her head, and, before anyone could react, ran towards the grey mare she had ridden there, where the stable hand had led her aside, and vaulted onto her back. The horse protested her sudden attack by Arya, and reared high, but Arya didn't care, she just needed to get out of there, Urging the horse on she galloped out of the yard, leaving everyone gaping behind her. She could hear Jon shouting her name, but she ignored it, passing through the gates, hiked high over the horses back, the wind making her eyes sting, or maybe it as all of the tears that no flooded her cheeks.

Arya galloped far away, over grassland and plain, jumping over a wall, and into a forest, where she finally slowed the panting horse to a trot, and then a walk, before she dismounted, and tied the horse to a tree. Arya wiped roughly at her eyes, suddenly ashamed by her actions. What would everyone think of her now? Gods, she had nearly pulled Needle on Jon! They would think she was crazy, unstable. A weak, stupid girl who couldn't deal with the ghosts of her past.

Arya sat on a rock by the river edge, and tried to gather her thoughts; she wasn't a craven, she was just overwhelmed, mostly by the assault of memories on her, but also by the crowd watching her. She didn't know how long she had sat there, but eventually she heard hooves; Arya knew it would be Jon, and didn't move from her spot. She heard the horse stop, and the thud of his weight on the ground as he dismounted. The crunch of leaves and pines as he strode over to her. She stiffened when he faltered behind her with a sigh. After a moment he sat down next to her, and neither said a word for a long time. Neither needed to.

After a while, Jon started speaking, and Arya just listened, letting his voice wash over her. "After I left Winterfell and made my journey to the Wall with Uncle Benjen, Tyrion Lannister came with us. He would tease me about how the wall was a noble occupation, guarding the realm against "Grumkins and Snarks". He used to make me so mad; one time I let Ghost knock him over after he pissed me off. But I wasn't mad at him, I was angry because what he had to say about my brothers to be was true; I thought that they would all be great men like uncle Benjen, men who could fight, men who were brave and noble.

"They weren't; most of them were barely older than I was, all of them convicted criminals who chose the Wall over death. There were thieves, rapers, murderers, all sorts. At first I was disgusted by them, and it was only made worse when we arrived at Castle Black; not only were my brothers to be scum, but the fortress wasn't a fortress at all, just a dilapidated, run down castle, barely more than a lean to against the wall.

"At first I was so angry, so bitter about how no one, not even father, had told me what I was signing up for. I as to spend the rest of my life in a falling down, freezing cold shithole, with the lowest of the low. I threw that anger into my training, and I was good, I was better than any of them. I could take two, or three at a time, and still win. It made me feel good when I beat them, made me feel proud that I was the best.

"But I had no friends; they all had a camaraderie with each other, and didn't like me because I grew up in a castle and them as peasants. Because I was better at fighting than them. They even hated me, and I hated them.

"Until Tyrion Lannister told me the facts, yet again. I had trained with a master swordsman, all my life, and they had probably never even held a sword. He told me their stories, of how a thief had only been stealing cheese for his starving sister; how a raper was innocent, but when a lord had found out his daughter was pregnant by him, he had him thrown in prison to save her name. The other stories were similar. I felt guilty then; who was I to judge all these people? I had never met them, never known them, but I passed judgement without thinking. Things were better after that, and those men, that I had so detested, became my brothers, people that I was as close to as I ever was to Robb."

Arya listened to every word, comforted by the sound of his voice; his story relaxed her, distracting her from her own thoughts so that she was focused on something else. Arya didn't know if he had meant to do that, but she was grateful that he had. She felt calmer inside, more still. Besides, it was interesting to hear a bit of Jon's life, even if it was such a small part. It was good to know that he had had friends, people he could rely on, when he was atop the Wall. Not that she had ever assumed he wouldn't; when Yoren had first planned on taking her to the Wall to Jon, Arya had pictured him as a powerful ranger, a leader and commander, strong and noble, fitting in perfectly. It was odd to think that he had been an outcast at first.

Jon stood up, and offered her his gloved hand. Arya hesitated but then grasped it, allowing him to pull her up without another word. He held her shoulders and stared into her eyes, making sure she was alright; Arya knew that she didn't need to smile, knew he could tell without one. He nodded, and walked over to his horse, and mounted up, Arya following in pursuit, before walking slowly back to Winterfell.

* * *

Arya didn't flinch the second time that they passed under the gateway, more confident in herself. Everyone was still out in the Yard, waiting for her. Sansa was stood talking to someone, wringing her hands together anxiously, no doubt apologizing for Arya's behavior. Arya cast Jon a small smile, and dismounted, walking over to her sister.

She only vaguely recognised the man; tall, with grey hair and white whiskers. She smiled slightly at him, and then touched Sansa's shoulder, who had not heard her come up. Sansa jumped around, and sighed in relief at her sisters return.

"Arya," she said sweetly, with a small sigh, "I was worried you wouldn't come back. I'm so glad you did." She gestured to the man. "This is Lord Helman Tallhart, one of House Starks sworn banner men. My Lord, this is my sister, Arya."

The man let out a booming laugh. "Of course you are; you have the Stark look about you," he said. Arya as rather taken aback. "Just like your late Aunt Lyanna. So, are you back to stay then? Heard you'd been running loose with the Wildlings!"

Arya blinked. "Yes, I did spend a year with the Free Folk... as for whether I'll be staying or not, I haven't figured that out yet," she said in a still voice, unsure how else to reply.

Sansa laughed a pretty and delicate laugh. "Of course she is staying, my lord. Arya always did love to jape." She turned to Arya. "Sweet sister, you have had a long journey; the feast won't start until this even'. Why don't I take you to your chambers and give you a chance to clean up?"

Arya sucked in a breath. "A feast?" She asked, dread dropping into her belly. That was exactly what she had hoped wouldn't happen. "Sansa, I appreciate it, I do, but it's really not necessary-"

Sansa clearly wasn't listening, as she called Jon over to them. Jon walked over from where he had been talking to another man, no doubt a Lord, that Arya did not recognise.

"Jon, I'm going to show Arya to her chambers so that she can clean up," Sansa explained, while Arya made wide eyes at Jon, who stifled a smile at her. "Why don't you take our guests to the receiving hall to warm up?"

Jon bowed his head. "Of course, sister," he said. "Perhaps take it easy with Arya? She will probably want to take the castle in."

Sansa smiled and took Arya's arm, leading her over to the castle entrance. Arya felt ridiculous being led by her sister, her arm bent awkwardly. She hadn't forgotten her way around the castle! She supposed Sansa just wanted to hold her, though, so she let it slide.

Walking through the castle was just an odd an experience as seeing it for the first time; Arya could feel her feet guiding her through the many corridors yet at the same time she felt lost, a stranger to her own home. If it even was still her home.

Eventually they reached the familiar wooden door that Arya knew led to her room. She actually looked forward to seeing it, just as she remembered it; plain and bare; with her old mattress and grey blankets and curtains, the huge fireplace, and wooden chests full of her boots and odd trinkets she had acquired, the window letting in the cold air outside and making the room smell fresh, like it was outside.

Sansa smiled and opened the door, before stepping inside. Arya followed after her, about to say how glad she was to see her old room again... and then stopped dead, the words dying in her mouth.

For a moment she was sure it was the wrong room; gone were the grey bed sheets and curtains, replaced by bright yellow and soft green. The stone floor was half covered by a thick blue rug, and by the gods did the room stink! A cloying, over sweet smell, that made the air thick, and stick in her lungs. Arya wrinkled her nose up.

"What happened?" She asked, trying to keep the dismay out of her voice. She strode across the room and thrust the window open wide, and breathed in the fresh cold air.

"The room needed work doing to it, it was so dark and dusty in here," Sansa said, "So I redecorated. Do you like it?" Arya turned to face her sister, who looked very pleased with her work. She wanted to say no, she hated it, wanted her grey drapes back and her plain furnishings. Instead she forced herself to nod.

"It as very... kind, of you, sister," Arya said, sure that her response was satisfactory. Sansa smiled, and there was a short silence. Arya swung her arms at her sides, and Sansa touched at her sleeves.

"The incense and candles are from Dorne, and the flowers are from High garden," she said. "I had a new mattress put in, the other had gone so hard and lumpy. I also had new drapes made, your old ones were all faded and dusty." Arya nodded her false appreciation, still feeling slightly light headed from the powerful fumes.

"I truly appreciate it, Sansa," she said, though she yearned for her old furnishings, "Thank you."

Sansa beamed. "I'm so glad you're home, Arya, I was glad to do it," she said carefully. "Anyway, I had the maids fill you a tub of water, it should still be warm enough if you get in now, and you can clean of from your journey."

Arya smiled and nodded, and waited for her sister to leave the room, but Sansa made no such move. Arya remembered how Sansa had always bathed with her friends, usually Jeyne Poole, and wondered if she meant to stay. Arya cleared her throat, hoping to hint to her sister, but Sansa seemed to miss it. Arya sighed, and started to peel off her clothes, uncomfortable with being exposed in front of anyone.

Sansa busied herself by pouring in oils and rose petals, that Arya was sure would make the water feel slimy on her skin. She hesitated before she peeled off her shirt, not wanting to reveal what was underneath. Indeed, her whole body was littered in scars, but by far the worst was to the side of her stomach. Before she could come up with an excuse, Sansa turned around.

"Come on, sister," she said softly, "you're bath will be getting cold."

Arya sighed and pulled the shirt over her head, tossing it to the chair where she had placed the other clothes. She waited for Sansa to shriek or cry out, but when she looked up to her sisters beautiful face, she was shocked to see tears cascading down her cheeks. Arya was aware of how she appeared; her body was underweight, her ribs sticking out. Her chest was bound cruelly with stiff bindings, as she hated her chest, hated how it looked, hated how they got in the way when she fought. She had denied it when they first started growing, when she was eleven or so, but she couldn't deny it forever. She had been used to making herself as safe as possible for so long, that she barely thought about it when she bound them first, thinking only to protect herself against men who would take her if they saw her small breasts, trying her best to appear like a boy rather than a girl. She very rarely inbound them, but when she did they were covered in hideous red welts, and bruises. By the time they had left she would bind herself once again.

But Arya was sure that her sister wasn't looking at her bindings; no, the most prominent and hideous aspect on her torso was the huge, only partially healed stab wound from where the Waif had attacked her, stabbing her six times in roughly the same place, so that each stab wound cut across another, leaving a red and purple mass of scars and ridges across her upper right stomach, just under her ribs. There were small smears of blood across her skin, where the wound opened a tiny bit when she moved too much too quickly. Arya covered the scar with both hands, but even then it as not fully covered.

"Oh, Arya," Sansa whispered, tears soaking her face. "What happened to you?"

Arya shook her head. "Trust me, sister, you do not want to know. It is not a pleasant tale."

Sansa swallowed, and nodded, averting her eyes from Arya's wound. "Why are you wearing that thing?" She asked, looking fearful. "Did someone... did someone do that," she indicated to her stab wound, "to your chest, as well?"

Arya laughed. "No, they just get in the way when I fight, so I bind them." Sansa shook her head, and said nothing, but Arya could tell that Sansa hated them. Arya sighed and unbound them, dropping the binding to the side, and stepped into the tub. She had been right; whatever Sansa had put in there had made it all slimy. But the water WAS warm, and Arya groaned in comfort. Sansa was immediately at her side.

"Is it your scar?" she asked, worry written across her face.

Arya shook her head. "No, I just haven't had a hot bath in... Gods, must be five years or more."

Sansa appeared shocked. "Five years?! How on earth did you bathe?"

"In rivers, usually," Arya said, "Or just with a wet cloth from the stream ." It was true; on the run there was seldom a chance to bathe properly. The last bath she had had like this would have been at Acorn Hill, all those years ago, when Lady Smallwood demanded it.

"Where have you been, Arya?" Sansa asked. "Where did you go that didn't even have a bath?"

Arya hummed, dipping her head back into the warm water. "I never stayed anywhere long enough, really. I've mostly lived outside since I ran from Kings Landing, camping out under the stars."

Sansa didn't seem to know what to stay, and instead moved behind Arya, where she started to wash Arya's hair. Normally Arya would have objected, but she hadn't had a proper wash in so long, and she had no wish to start an argument with her sister so soon. Besides, it felt good.

Once Sansa as satisfied that Arya as clean enough she hurried Arya out of the now cold bath, and threw a cloth at her to dry herself of with, and a robe to tie around her while Sansa dried her hair off, sat in front of the fire.

"Arya, what on earth happened to your hair?" Sansa asked, fingering the now soft locks, having noticed how parts were shorter, and other parts longer, and the bottom half a mess of split ends.

Arya stifled a laugh. "I had to pretend to be a boy when I fled Kings Landing, and I had to cut all of my hair off with a dagger. Each time it grew out I had to cut it all off again, so it always grew lumpy and uneven. Eventually I couldn't pretend to be a boy anymore, even when I bound my chest, so I let it grow out."

She couldn't see Sansa's expression, but she knew what it would be; her eyes would be bulging a little and her mouth fighting to stay closed. "Well, I can give it a tidy up now, just sit still," Sansa offered, and before Arya could even protest Sansa had snipped away a large portion of her hair. Arya considered pulling away but decided that it would look even sillier half done, and besides, it would be easier to manage. Sansa kept snipping away at her hair, and Arya thought that she must have cut away a foot, but when she was finished, Sansa steered Arya over to a mirror. Arya gaped at herself.

Truthfully it was the first time in years that she had properly seen her reflection; she was small, and petite, Sansa being a head taller; Arya's body was lean and muscled, though not overly, and curved slightly; she was not as feminine as Sansa, due to her skin being littered in scars, and her more lean shape, but she had curves in all the places that Sansa did. Her neck was long, and led to sultry collarbones; Her waist dipped and her hips flared and led to long shapely legs. Her breasts were not large or small, but firm and round, even if they were covered in ugly red welts. Arya's stomach was covered in her ugly scar. But it was her face that drew Arya's attention; it was still long, but it was more proportional now, her eyes not seeming to big, with a button nose, and full pink lips. It was her eyes though; dark grey that almost seemed black. Like Jon's. Like her fathers.

"Arya, are you alright?" Sansa asked, worried. "Don't you like it?"

Arya shook her head. "No, it's not the hair... I just forgot what I looked like." Her hair still hung half way down her back, and was very thick and dark, though not so dark as Jon's. It had a slight wave to it, though Jon's had more of a curl to it.

"What do you mean you forgot what you looked like?" Sansa asked, frowning.

Arya looked at her sister in the mirror. "There aren't many mirrors in the wild, Sansa. The last time I properly saw myself I couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve."

Sansa frowned, and then shook herself. "We had better get you dressed, we need to be down there soon," she said, leaving no room for argument. She strode over to a chest, and thrust the lid open. Arya watched her rummage around in there, and then pull something out with a hum of satisfaction.

Arya stared in horror.

"I didn't have your measurements, but we can always pin it in place," Sansa said, oblivious to Arya's dismay once again. "I made it myself, I think you'll look lovely in it. I definitely got the colouring right, and the shape. You always were so skinny, I thought I had better make a skinny dress!" She laughed. "There are some shoes as well, in the chest, you can't very well wear your boots with this dress. Maybe some jewellery though, not a necklace for sure  
but perhaps a bracelet, or a ring; I have just the one in my room, I shall-"

Arya cut across her, unable to hear anymore. "Sansa, it truly is a beautiful dress- really- and I really appreciate you making it for me, and everything else you've done for me," Arya said slowly. Sansa beamed, and Arya continued hesitantly. "But I can't wear it- or at least, not today."

Sansa's face dropped slightly. "What do you mean, you can't wear it? It's a feast, you really must look presentable."

Arya swallowed, hoping to avoid a fight so soon. "Sansa, I'm sorry. I can't wear that. I need my own clothes tonight, I need some... familiarity. I haven't worn a dress since... since... well, a long, long time ago."

Sansa pouted slightly. "Arya, I understand that you want to feel safe, but you ARE safe now. You don't need those ugly mens clothes to protect you anymore."

Arya shook her head. "Sansa, I know how hard you worked on this dress, but I can't wear it right now."

Sansa crossed her arms. "Well you have nothing else to wear," she said stubbornly. Arya smirked, and crossed the room the her bed. She stuck her arm behind the tall headboard, whilst Sansa watched with a raised brow. After a second she felt it brush her finger tips. With a smile, Arya pulled out the parcel, and laid it on the bed, and untied it. Sansa walked over.

"No," she said straight away, "No way on earth are you wearing that. Where did you even get that, if it's been here all this time?"

Arya smiled, picking up the shirt. "Robb had them made for Bran before the king came to visit. He didn't get the right size though, and they were far too big on Bran, and too slim for him. Seeing as Bran already had enough, and I kept wearing fathers old shirts, Bran gave them to me. They were much too big at the time, so I left them here, but I'm sure they'll fit now."

Arya remembered how overjoyed she had been when Bran gave them to her; a white shirt, with long peasant sleeves and laces at the front; tan coloured breeches, not too dissimilar from her own; long brown boots, with laces up the front, smarter than her ones, with were of the same style, but with buckles, and far more worn and rough; a leather doublet, again, a rich brown, and tidier than her own one.

"Arya, you can't wear that," Sansa said. "Whether it fits or not, they are boys clothes, and won't fit over your chest."

"Once I'm all bound up again it will," Arya said, already wrapping the bindings around her chest tightly. Sansa winced.

"Arya, you're going to look silly if you wear that," she argued. "Even if the clothes suit you, people won't appreciate it."

Arya shrugged. ""Not a problem," she said, honestly not caring what people thought of her. Damn it all, she was already dreading this feast! With a last huff, Sansa sat down in a chair, and let Arya dress herself in Brans old clothes, which to Arya's delight, fit almost perfectly; the britches were a little tight, to be sure, especially around the hips, and the boots were a bit big; Sansa had been right, the shirt was a little tight across the chest, but it was manageable with her breasts bound so tight. Arya tucked the shirt into the britches, and did the laces of the breeches tight so that it wouldn't slip out later.

Sansa was not impressed.


	8. Better the Devil You Know

**DISCLAIMER: Still don't won 'nun'. Rights to George R R Martin  
Okaaaay, last chapter was hella long, 26 pages I think. Hope all of you enjoyed it, it was quite fun to write. Let me know your thought, as always!** **Originally I had Rickon live in the last chapter, but just as I started writing this, that you are reading now, I went back and took him out ;( Poor Rickon. It just felt wrong to have him live, because then I wanted Robb to live as well and that just takes away the hole point of the Starks suffering. So seeing as Robb had to stay dead, I thought it would be weird to have Rickon alive, and Robb the only one who died. Besides, there is potential in Arya grieving for her baby brother as well as her older brother! Anyway, as always, if you have any suggestions, please let me know, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Over and Out!**

Arya made sure her mask of indifference was firmly in place as she walked into the Hall; it was the first time she had seen it since she left, and it was as though nothing had changed, except the people seated at the table. Arya barely recognised any of them. As Sansa steered Arya towards the high table, where Jon was already seated, with a spare chair on either side that Arya assumed were for Sansa and her, she had to admire her sisters eye for detail.

The room had banners hung above where each house was seated, and glowing braziers lined the walls; candles lined the walls and sat atop tables, and the magnificent iron candle chandelier hung from the ceiling. The room was adorned with boughs of Holly and Ivy, and the best tapestries had been hung up.

Arya was hyper aware of the hall falling silent as she and her sister strode up the aisle in the middle. She kept her face an indifferent slate, showing no emotion or thought. Her paces were as graceful and smooth as when she water danced. Beside her, Sansa walked with her hands folded in front of her, and a polite smile on her face. _Ever the Lady,_ Arya thought to herself. Where Sansa's heels clipped and tapped on the floor with every step, Arya was completely silent, just as she had been trained to be.

As they reached the high table, Jon stood up and pulled out a chair for Sansa who sat gracefully, tucking her skirts underneath her carefully. Arya sat down, before Jon could pull out her chair. Arya fought not to wrinkle her nose when she saw that all there was to drink was wine. But before she could even think of an excuse to ask for something else, Jon laid a hand on her shoulder from where he still stood. And before Arya could ask what he was doing, he had cleared his throat, and with cold dread, Arya knew.

"Jon," she hissed, but it was too late.

"My Lords and My Ladies," he began, drawing the attention of the room, "I am glad that you could make it here today. Of course, today is no ordinary day. We are here to celebrate a very important occasion," he said, squeezing her shoulder, "the return of my little sister, Arya Stark!" There was a round of applause, which Jon waited for to die down, before he continued. " I won't keep you long from the brilliant feast that our cooks have prepared you, but first I would just like to say how glad I am, that Arya is home." There was another, shorter, round of applause. "Arya," Jon said, now speaking to her, "you have no idea how much we all have missed you. I was a mess without you, as I am sure My Lords will happily confess," he said to quiet laughter. "We all hope you a long and peaceful home coming. No one is happier than I that you are back where you belong," He said, to a slightly sobered audience. He turned back to the room. "I have kept you long enough, Lords and Ladies of the North; let the feast commence!" There was applause as the room returned to talking and laughter, and music as the musicians struck up a song that Arya vaguely recognized.

Arya swallowed as everyone around her picked up utensils and began to eat; Arya hadn't used cutlery in a long while, especially not what was laid before her. On either side of her plate were numerous different forks and knives and spoons. Arya had no idea which to use; craning her neck she tried to watch Sansa, but she couldn't see her around Jon. Taking a guess she picked up a medium fork and knife, hoping she had it right, and began piling her plate with food. A lot of the food she couldn't name but it all looked amazing to someone who had spent the last eight years eating dry rabbits and pigeons, or going without. Arya almost forgot to use the cutlery in her haste to try it all, almost just grabbing it with her hands as she as wont to do.

She only became aware of the eyes on her as she rubbed her hands together roughly, searching in vain for a drink that wasn't wine. Jon was watching her with a raised brow. Arya swallowed her mouthful, and rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth quickly, waiting to be reprimanded for her unladylike behavior, but Jon simply laughed.

"It's a wonder you're so skinny," he said good naturally, "You eat like you've not eaten in years!"

Arya shrugged. "I haven't had a decent meal since I was nine. Besides, I eat, I just don't grow." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she remembered another time hen she had uttered the exact same phrase.

 _"Are you hungry?" Lord Tywin asked, walking towards her, as she cleared up plates._

 _"No," she replied quickly, thinking he would tell her off for staring at the food so openly. He scoffed slightly._

 _"Of course you are," he said. "Eat."_

 _Arya paused, unsure whether it was a trick or not. "I'll eat later, in the kitchens." She knew she wouldn't, and if she did it would be a crust of bread, but she didn't want to fall into some trap. Perhaps he had found out who she was, and the mutton was poisoned._

 _"Don't you know it's bad manners to refuse when a Lord offers you food?" He asked sharply. He walked over to the head of the table, and sat down, watching her. "Sit," He commanded harshly. Arya sat, not looking him in the face, unsure why he was so insistent that she ate. He handed her a knife, which she took reluctantly. There had to be an excuse to get away, but the food looked so good..._

 _He watched her intently, moving to stand behind her. Slowly she took a chunk, and put it in her mouth, which started watering immediately. It was delicious. Perhaps she could save some, sneak it away to Gendry in the forge. He was fed better than most, due to his hard, and important, work, and he never complained, but Arya knew he still got hungry._

 _"You're small for your age," Lord Tywin commented as she ate, faster and faster, unable to stop herself. "I suppose you've been underfed your whole life."_

 _Arya turned her head a little. "I eat a lot," she said, her mouth full, "I just don't grow." She went back to the food._

 _Lord Tywin made a small noise, and wandered away, while Arya continued stuffing her face._

 _"A_

rya?" Arya snapped her head around, realizing that Jon had asked her a question.

"Erm, yeah," she said convincingly, "The foods great."

Jon stifled a smile. "Well, I'm glad the food is to your liking, but I asked you how it felt seeing everyone again."

Arya blinked. "Oh. Uhm," she thought for a moment. "It's weird. I keep seeing faces and thinking they're strangers, and then remembering that they weren't always."

Jon nodded, and leaned over, whispering in her ear. "By the way, you work your way outwards," he whispered, nodding at her cutlery. Arya blushed, and traded utensils, while Jon shook his head good naturally.

It was not long before the man on her left cleared his throat. At first Arya ignored it, used to people simply shouting her name for attention, and if that failed, throwing something at her. He cleared his throat again, and Arya swallowed her mouthful, before looking at him.

It as young, though older than her, perhaps around Jon's age. He had dark blond hair and brown eyes, freckles sprinkling his nose. Arya didn't recognise him.

"Lady Stark," he said, nodding his head politely.

Arya almost jumped at the name. "Oh, I'm not a Lady," she protested, determined not to be dragged into this again. He arched a fine eyebrow at her.

"Well, then, what may I call you?" He asked, not commenting on her protest.

"Arya, is fine," she replied. "Who are you?" She asked. He stifled a smile at her blunt question.

"Torrhen Manderly," he said. "At your service." He stuck out his hand. Arya blinked and then grabbed it in her hand, giving it a rough shake. He appeared somewhat taken aback, but didn't say anything.

"I hear you've had quite the trip," he said, taking a sip from his glass of wine.

Arya scratched her nose with a finger. "Well, yeah, I guess you could say that," she said, trying not to choke as she took a swig from the wine in front of her. She didn't care if it was the finest Arbor Gold, the whole lot was bloody disgusting.

"Forgive me," he said, "but is that a dagger at your hip?"

Arya nodded. "Well, yeah. I thought it would be a bad idea to bring my sword with me to the feast." Actually, Arya had not thought it would be bad idea at all; Sansa, however, had.

Torrhen creased his brow. "My Lady, may I ask why you have a dagger- or indeed a sword- at all?"

"What do you mean?" Arya asked, surveying the hall for a face she knew.

"Well, I mean, ladies- high born ladies in particular- don't need weapons," He said, clearly confused. "Why do you even have it?"

Arya felt a spark of irritation; of course she would have to flaming deal with this. "Yeah, well, I already told you, I'm no Lady." Before he could reply, maids began whisking in and clearing the plates away. Arya stood up, suddenly angry.

Jon looked startled. "Arya, is everything alright?"

Arya nodded. "I'm afraid I feel quite tired, brother," she lied. "I think an early night would do me well." And before he could reply Arya strode off don the hall, ignoring the eyes that followed her.

She had been a fool to even entertain the idea that she could ever fit in here again. Not that she cared; she had grown a thick skin to other peoples opinions, but this was not how she had wanted to spend her first night in Winterfell. She had wanted to explore the castle alone with her memories, had wanted to walk the once familiar paths. Not sit in some stuffy hall with everyone watching her, expecting her to be some lady.

Without thinking, Arya found herself striding out of the castle and across the silent yard, where she automatically slipped into the shadows. She knew where she needed to go.

The steps down to the Crypts were unguarded, and Arya took a torch from the wall; she didn't need it- she could see almost perfectly in the dark, but she wanted to see them properly. It grew colder as she descended the stairs, but Arya barely noticed it, even welcomed it after the heat of the overcrowded hall. As she walked she felt a shiver run down her spine, with each statue of her ancestors that she passed. She walked and she walked, turning each corner, remembering exactly where she was going in the labyrinth. She knew where they were; she used to come down here a lot, alone more often than in company. She found a certain peace here, among her long gone family; her sister had found it spooky down here, and Rickon was easily scared- even Bran was uncomfortable down there. Robb had often been too busy, but Jon, she remembered, came down quite often.

She remembered with a smile when she, Sansa and Bran had gone down there, and Jon had scared them by covering himself in flour and pretending to be a ghost. Sansa had screamed and cried, and Bran had turned and fled, but Arya had seen straight away who it was, and had punched him. She hadn't hurt him, and he had burst out laughing, before Robb and Theon had stepped out from behind the statues, also laughing.

Eventually she found it. His face, preserved in stone. But it didn't really look like him; Arya felt bitter, and disappointed- she had been excited to see his likeness again, after all these years. He looked stern in the statue, from his stone throne, and Arya knew that the sword lying across his lap was not even really his sword; she wondered where Ice was, what had happened to her fathers Great Valerian Longsword. It didn't feel right to see him holding some sword that was likely just a spare that someone had found lying around. Eddard Stark had deserved so much more. Arya couldn't help but picture his body, lying in there in the huge case- would the body be in two parts, his head lying loose, or had someone sewed it back onto his shoulders? Or maybe it wasn't even in there; she didn't even know what had happened to his body. Likely Joffrey had had his head put up on a spike. The thought filled her with rage, and Arya wasn't sure how it had happened, but one second her dagger was in her belt, and the next it was quivering in a wooden panel at the end of the row of statues.

Arya calmed her breathing, ridding herself of the emotions inside of her, before she moved on to the statue beside it. To her fathers left was a beautiful statue of her mother; unlike Eddard Stark, Catelyn Tully was perfectly portrayed in stone. It brought Arya little comfort. Unlike her father, Arya knew that her mothers remains were not truly there. She still remembered the dream she had had, so long ago, of her mothers body being dragged out of a lake by wolves. At the time Arya had not known what the dream meant, but now Arya understood; Arya had warged into Nymeria while she slept, and the dream had been real. She didn't know what had happened to her mothers body in the end, but she was certain that it was not there, in her would be tomb. No doubt she had been eaten by wild animals, wolves tearing at her flesh, and birds clawing at her eyes. Arya felt her fury grow, she wanted to scream, and shout, she wanted to kill the Frey's all over again, wanted to watch them all dying in front of her. Arya the feeling she had got, killing them all, tricking Walder into eating his sons in a pie. She had felt nothing when she did it except vengeance for her mother and brother, even for her unborn niece or nephew.

With the thought in mind Arya moved on to her fathers right, and found her older brother. Again, she doubted his remains were truly there. His handsome face was captured in the stone, but he looked older than she remembered him, and younger at the same time. Seventeen, barely a man grown, yet he already had a pregnant wife; and that pregnant wife was why he died. She remembered his body, paraded around amidst cheering Frey's, his body tied to his horse and propped up on stilts, his Dire Wolf's head sewn onto his body. Arya felt tears stinging her eyes, tears of rage and fury over the injustice of what happened to her family. He hadn't deserved this, none of her family had. Stark's remains belonged there, in Winterfell in the crypts, with every other Stark to have lived, the once Kings of Winter, and where were they? Nobody knew.

Her fathers remains were supposed to have been sent back to Winterfell, but they hadn't ever arrived, or at least, his bones had been sent to her mother, but were lost after Catelyn was murdered by the Frey's. And where were her remains? Lying in the bellies of wild animals, before they were shat out with every other foul thing the beast had eaten. And her brother; at least Catelyn had had a river to carry her away from that place, even if it was a mockery of her family traditions. But Robbs? No one knew anything about where he had ended up. He had been the first King in the North for a thousand years, and his remains were lost forever.

Arya moved on to the statue beside him. So this was what her sister in law looked like. Arya had never even met her. She wondered whether her remains had ever made their way home, though for Jeyne Westerling, her home was not Winterfell. Her statue was far more basic, and Arya wondered if she had even looked like that, seeing as she had never been to Winterfell. Arya wondered if there had been any kind of commemoration for her would be niece or nephew; she doubted it. It never even had a chance to live.

Arya swallowed and moved on again, almost scared to see her baby brothers face preserved in stone. Jon had told her that he had died, murdered by Ramsey Bolton. Arya knew his remains were there, in the huge iron chest. His statue showed the face of someone much older than the toddler she remembered, but someone who was still far too young to be there at all. He would have been eleven when he died, still a child. If the statue was accurate then he looked just like Robb had when Robb was younger, though Arya remembered little from those days. Looking into her baby brothers face, the brother she had never even got to hold a proper conversation with, Arya was filled with an overwhelming sadness, an agony that crashed into her in waves. She never got to say goodbye to any of them. Arya sank to her knees in despair, though the only tears that flowed down her cheeks were ones of rage.

* * *

Jon strode through the yard, holding a torch aloft. When Arya had stormed out of the Hall everyone had burst into talk, discussing her. He had declined when guards offered to go and look for her, knowing that they wouldn't ever find her; no doubt it would only have made her angry anyway. Besides, Jon was sure he knew where she had gone. It only made sense that she want to see them.

Sure enough he found her there, curled up on the statue of her fathers lap. To be honest, Jon found the whole scene somewhat creepy; her torch had been dropped several feet away, and he had noticed how her dagger was embedded in a panel of wood on the wall. It was disturbing to see her there, sleeping amongst the dead. Anyone else would have been terrified to be down there alone, it even gave Jon the creeps, but Arya had never been afraid down there, even when she was a tiny child.

She looked so small, curled up there on her fathers lap. She looked more vulnerable than Jon had seen her so far, yet her fathers statue offered her no comfort, his arms stiff on the throne arms, his face cold and indifferent to the fact that his daughter lay atop his grave in pain.

Jon lifted her gently into his arms; she was frozen cold, where the stone had leeched all warmth from her. She was light, too, weighing little more than some children half her age. It was painful to see her like this, and reminded Jon that no matter how strong and hard she appeared, she was still just a girl, a girl who had been alone for far too long.

* * *

FOUR MONTHS LATER  
Jon sighed, as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the letter in front of him. The penmanship was poor, and there were ink splotches all over the parchment where the authors huge hand had no doubt snapped the quill several times. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, his head reeling. The timing was completely off but he had no choice... at least she would have another two months or so.

The morning after he had found her asleep in the Crypts Arya had not said a word about what had happened to her; she had refused to speak to most of their visitors, those who had stayed the night at Winterfell, and when they pushed the point of trying to talk with her she snapped at them and then left them where they stood. Ever since, Jon barely ever saw her in the castle, though he was well informed of what she did; at first he had had his guards tale her, but within days she had figured it out and they were unable to ever keep a track of her any more; when she had found out she had been furious, and had shouted at Jon until she was hoarse. She had claimed the beautiful grey mare she had borrowed on the way from Castle Black as hers, naming her Astrid, and the horse would be gone from the stables before even the first stable boy was up, and wouldn't be back until dark, at which point the kitchens were often supplied with new meat from Arya's private hunts.

Of course, when Arya wasn't missing she was training in the yard; Jon often stopped to watch her, transfixed by her skill. At first she had had plentiful partners, but she beat each one so swiftly and quickly that few would volunteer to fight her anymore. Jon had offered to fight her himself, confident that he would be a better match for her, but she had declined each time. Jon suspected she was still mad that he had had her tailed, though it seemed more than that.

The truth as that Arya had become completely unpredictable, and Jon was forced to face the fact that she wasn't the Arya he had known as a child. Sometimes she was like fire, raging and out of control, other times he could see the anger simmering in her dark grey eyes. Other times she was cold, like ice, calculating and stony, and she would say things that made him think that she was seeing more than she let on. But worst of all was when she put on what he had come to find as her mask, an impenetrable and indifferent mask that he couldn't ever get past. Like she was just a shell.

She rarely ever listened to him, and when she did it was only so she could ignore him anyway. Sansa was in despair at her sisters behavior, tired of the many questions asked by Lords and Ladies, constantly asking after Arya. Jon had even written to his betrothed to ask her opinion, but even Daenerys had come up blank, though Jon supposed that was unfair, seeing as she had never even met the girl.

Jon wished there was someone from Arya's past that he could talk to, find out what had happened to her to change her so, but he still knew next to nothing of what had happened to her in those eight years. She refused to confirm or dismiss the stories about her, and would answer questions with more questions.

On top of his troublesome little sister, Jon was facing several other problems as King in the North, and soon to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. The realm was left poor after the war, and thieves and bandits took advantage of this; it was not so bad in the North, despite that being where the Army of the Dead had hit the hardest, due to the vast lands around them and hardy people, but more populated areas were rife with crime. Already Jon had sent many men to the Wall.

But worse was his need for new alliances, that stretched further than the North. The Iron Islands were simmering with rebellion, and in the South there were several vast households that he had no connection to. Mercifully, Sansa had agreed to marry Wyllas Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden; as it had turned out, she had had a near betrothal to him once before. Her dowry was high, but it would be worth it to bind the highly profitable lands to the throne.

No, it was not High Garden that worried him. A new Lord had taken over the Stormland's, and though Jon trusted and well liked the man who held them, he was a Baratheon, and there were those who would be happy to see a Baratheon back on the throne over the Targaryens. Jon had met Lord Baratheon during the war, and they had become friends, trusting each other well. It was Jon who had legitimized him.

And it was that man who had written the letter in Jon's hands.

Very quickly after Arya's arrival at Winterfell, Jon had received many, many letters asking for her hand in marriage. Jon had turned them all down, not mentioning them to Arya for a long while. But as his desperation grew for alliances, he had found himself subconsciously considering some of them. Eventually he had broached the topic gently to her, but her reaction had left him with little hope. Yet the murmurings of rebellion grew stronger and stronger, and Jon knew that he had no choice; Arya needed to wed.

And what better solution than marrying her to his greatest threat and friend?

Gendry had been interested in Arya for as long as Jon could remember. When they were at war and used to share stories, Jon would tell tale of Winterfell, and his family, and when he had mentioned Arya, his friend had been very interested; he would often even request stories about her. Jon had always assumed his interest stemmed from having had no siblings himself hen he grew up, but it was only ever Arya that Gendry would ask about. So when Jon had received his letter requesting a betrothal to his youngest sister, Jon had not been surprised.

He didn't like it, but Jon knew he had already made up his mind. Besides, Arya was ten and six, well past the normal age for betrothal; it was time she accepted her role as a Stark and Princess. Jon needed her to do this for him, and he would not be swayed. The letter had arrived fourteen days prior, and Jon had already written back his agreement, and his invitation for the new Lord to come to Winterfell. Jon knew the timing was perhaps early for Arya, but in every other way it was perfect; if all else went to plan Sansa would leave shortly after Arya for High Garden, and Jon would leave for Kings Landing, with Bran in charge at Winterfell, with his wife of a year, Meera Reed. Jon would have time to get everything in order by then, and with both House Tyrell and Baratheon tied to him, should the Iron born revolt, he would have no trouble quashing it.

Jon stood up and stretched his limbs, before walking out of his solar and onto the balcony over looking the Yard. Sure enough, there was his little sister, fighting against a knight that Jon didn't recognise with his armour on. The knight was huge though, making a lot of noise and raining heavy blows down on Arya, who danced lightly on her feet, her tiny sword darting around the knight. She was obviously winning rapidly.

Jon watched with a sigh. She was not going to handle this well. The knight was now on his last legs, and Arya darted nimbly around, and ruthlessly disarmed him, her sword pressed against his throat in a heartbeat. Jon shook his head.

"Arya!" He called down from the balcony. She looked up, her face that cool and indifferent mask that Jon so hated. He motioned for her to follow, and without any other act of acknowledgment, she sheathed her sword and started towards him. Jon sighed and prayed to whatever God's were up there that she wouldn't react as violently as he suspected she might. It didn't take long for her catch up with him, and when she did, Jon didn't say a word, but instead lead her in silence to his solar study.

He walked deliberately behind his desk and sat down, motioning for her to sit opposite him. Arya lingered in the doorway for a moment and then sat slowly in the chair, her eyes not leaving his face once. Jon sat in silence for a few minutes, trying desperately to think of another way to defend his kingdom. Arya sat as still as a statue, carved out of stone.

Jon cleared his throat. "How are you, Arya?" he asked, unsure how else he should start.

"I'm fine, thank you," Arya said, her face impassive.

Jon waited a second and then spoke again. "I have barely seen you since your arrival. How are you settling in to the castle?"

Arya cocked an eyebrow. "I imagine that if you found better spies you wouldn't have to ask."

Jon sighed, and scrubbed his face with his gloved hand. By the Gods, he loved Arya, but she had to be so damn difficult! With Sansa it had been so much easier, something that still confused him; he had always assumed that should he be able to meet both his sisters again it would be Sansa he had a harder time connecting to, but Arya was driving him to the edge of sanity.

"I have already apologised for upsetting you, sister," he said, "but I still maintain that I did it purely because I care about you. There is little talk in the Seven Kingdoms other from about your return, and anyone could have tried to find you!"

Arya's face grew stony. "You know better than anyone that I can defend myself!"

"Yeah, well what if you were attacked by a group of men? You didn't defend yourself so well when that wildling you call Grisser attacked us." Jon regretted saying it straight away; it was a sore point for her, and the second the words were out of his mouth Arya's eyes flashed with rage, and she leaned forwards in her chair.

"That was one time, Jon!" She hissed. "And what about you? You keep telling me of what the people say, do you really think I have missed it? I have been trained almost my whole life to really see things, to really hear things. Do you think I haven't heard what the people say about you? The greatest swordsman in Westeros? Yet I beat you. I nearly killed you, twice. Could have killed you a third. I saved your life over and over when Grisser attacked, and that is why I was caught! So don't you dare insinuate that I can't look after myself, when I have spent the last eight years doing exactly that!"

Jon swallowed. She wasn't wrong. To be honest, it rankled with him that what she said was true. So far he had hardly done anything to impress her, so he couldn't exactly point out her flaws.

Irritated by the whole situation, Jon raised is voice. "Arya, I didn't bring you here to sit here arguing with you. I know that you can use a blade well, you think I haven't seen you in the yard, beating up my men?" To be frank, Jon wasn't sure it was a good idea to keep letting her fight them; he was worried about her, it was true, she was half their size, and one blow from their long swords could seriously wound her, where her tiny bravosi blade would not, but he was worried more about his men; they were starting to become annoyed with being beaten by a girl over and over, and were starting to become angry.

"Arya, I brought you here not to argue, but to inform you of the situation I am in," he said. That got her attention. "You know that I am King, and whilst I don't act like it here at home, once I am married to Daenerys I will have to start behaving more..." Jon struggled for a word for a moment, "... king like." Arya looked slightly nonplussed when he finished. Jon rubbed his burnt hand as he tried to think of how to go forth.

"I will be travelling to Kings Landing in a few months," Jon said, and, hoping to appease her, added, "and I hope that you will go with me."

Arya blinked, and chewed her lip, making Jon smile; she always bit her lip when she was thinking. " I don't know, Jon," she admitted, "I spent years and years in the south, and then in the east. I'm not in such a hurry to go back there."

Jon reached over the table, and took her hand. Arya appeared to fight with herself not to pull away, and Jon was glad when her hand relaxed in his; he had noticed how she always flinched when touched, something he was slowly trying to work out of her with casual touches. He remembered how he used to muss her hair up, and wondered if he ever would again.

"Arya, I really think that you should consider it. Do you think I haven't noticed how you grow more restless with each day?" Arya looked away from him, and Jon's fingers tightened around her hand slightly. "I understand. When I first came back here I was the same. I wanted nothing more than to relax and settle in, have the peace that we fought for- but I also pined for the chase. I can see it in you, sister. You range further and further each time you ride, and come back with more and more kills. You fight more viciously than before, and you never sit still for long, and when you do you are distracted, stare out the window into the distance... like you are doing right now." Arya swallowed, and tore her face away from the window to stare at him, her face one of pure conflict. "Come South with me. You don't have to stay, but I think travelling will be good for you. You were never made to settle in one place, even if it is your home."

Arya was still, and quiet for a moment, before she spoke. "I will come with you South," she said, "but I can not promise that I will stay long, and if I do you will not see me in Court. I won't dress up, I won't come to dances, or feasts. Do not ask me to."

Jon bowed his head, relief flooding him. Frankly, he wasn't sure how he felt about going South. He had only been the once, to meet Cersei, and it had been _hot._ And smelly. And crowded. Jon loved the North and the cold, and he was not sure how he would like the heat in the south. "Thank you," he said. He paused and then added carefully, "There are a few other things that we must discuss, actually."

Arya arched a dark brow, and Jon continued with caution. "As of late, there have been murmurings of rebellion in the Iron Islands. They want the land they had before Robert Baratheon crushed them with father, want to become independent again. At the current time I do not have a large enough army to easily defeat them should they openly rebel. I have no doubts my banner men would come to aid, but even then, if the Greyjoys take to ship, there is little that the banners of the North can do.

"Their navy is our greatest threat, but if we block off all shore... it will be harder for them to fight that way," Jon explained. Arya listened eagerly, and Jon could see how it took her that much less time to understand than Sansa had when he explained it to her... if only if in an army point of view. "So far most of the coastal lords have agreed to our aid, as they are tied in some way; Tyrion Lannister to Daenerys as her Hand, the Eyrie to the North through familial ties, the Riverlands the same, if not more so...Dorne is too strong for a fleet to take, and even then Dany's mother was a Martel.

"Obviously we can't march their armies over here," Arya added, and Jon was pleased to see her understanding and being so serious about the situation... that would help. "It would take far too long, be too expensive, leave all of their lands undefended, and even then we don't have enough ships to take them over to the Iron Islands, or enough provisions here to feed them all, and even if we did, the Greyjoys would just sail their ships to other shores, undefended because we have their armies here." Arya paused. "That means that we have no other choice but to keep the coasts defended... what about Highgarden?"

Jon wasn't sure whether to grin or grimace. It was evident she was quick and clever to have picked that up so quickly, but then he would have to explain his real reason for bringing her to his solar. "Well... Sansa has agreed to marry Lord Wyllas, so she'll travel with us to Kings Landing and then to the Reach. That way Highgarden is bound to the crown as well."

Arya grimaced. "And Sansa is happy with this? With marriage?" Jon felt his heart sink; her views on marriage clearly had not changed.

"Sansa understands her duties, not only to her family, but as a princess," he explained doggedly. "She responded as any respectable high born Lady would, and recalled your mothers House words: Family, Duty, Honour." Jon hesitated, and then forced himself to look her in the eyes. "I hope that you will recall your mothers words as well when I ask you to do the same."

Jon watched her reaction carefully. Her face did not change; her mask was in place, but Jon was certain that he could see confusion in the set of her mouth.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes narrowed and calculating. Jon licked his lips.

"Tyrell is not the only house that we need to tie ourselves to," Jon said, and he saw Arya's eyes grow icy. She tried to pull her hand away, but he only held it tighter, clamping it to the desk. "There is another house, one that we MUST bind to us. A powerful house, one that could prove high risk to us."

"Which house?" Arya demanded icily. "Which house?!" She asked again when he didn't reply immediately.

Jon sighed. "One father tried to unite with before. House Baratheon." Jon watched her face grow from icy to confused.

"But there aren't any Baratheons left," she said. "Roberts dead, Stannis is dead, Renly is dead. They had no heirs."

Jon shook his head. "No, there was a son, a secret son," he said. "He stepped up during the war, did a lot; I helped him along to becoming Lord of Storms End afterwards."

"You mean that he is a bastard?" Arya asked. Jon nodded. Arya raised an eyebrow. "And you wish for Sansa to marry twice? Even she can't be happy with that, Jon, please don't ask her to- she'll go along with it, even if she is miserable about it."

Jon stared blankly at her. Such a sharp mind, his sister had, yet she completely missed the point. Jon groaned, and scraped his hair back. "No, Arya. I don't mean Sansa." She still looked confused. "I meant you."

No reaction.

"Arya do you understand?"

No reaction.

"Arya, he is a great man, and he wants you. He is my friend."

Still no reaction.

Jon sighed. "Arya, listen, he wrote to me, asking for your hand in marriage a while back, among tens of other requests. I need this, sister, otherwise I wouldn't ask it of you. I really think you will like him, he's-"

So suddenly that Jon almost missed it, Arya had stabbed a dagger into the desk, and thrown herself at him, yelling. Her tiny frame slammed into him, knocking the chair over. Jon tried to grab at her hands, but one she had somehow pinned beneath her boot, and he was forced to use the other to defend his face from her blows. Her fist caught his jaw, and he grunted.

"ARYA!" He shouted, while she continued to scream and pummel. "ARYA, STOP THIS!"

Arya was beyond reasoning he realized, and not wanting to hurt her, he flipped her over, pinning her hands at her head and kneeling on one knee , the other raised.

"NO, I WON'T!" She screamed, out of control. "THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY I WILL MARRY, NOT YOUR STUPID LORD, NOT ANY LORD!"

When she stopped shouting for breath, Jon took his chance. "Arya, please don't be difficult about this. I understand your reservations, but it is your duty to do this. Your sister has accepted this, hell, even I accepted it. Bran married, Robb did before, even your parents, when they barely knew one another!" Arya kicked and struggled beneath him, clearly furious.

"Arya, he is a good man," he tried to reason, "and if it isn't him, then it has to be someone else, there is no shortage of offers." Arya's efforts doubled, and Jon dodged a flying fist before he got it under control again."Arya, you have time, months and months yet, nothing is going to happen immediately."

"NOTHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN AT ALL!" She yelled, and then several things happened at once.

Arya squirmed out of his hold, and darted up before he could catch her, just as Sansa burst in, followed by guards.

"What in seven hells is going on?" Sansa demanded, dismayed at the scene, just as Arya grabbed her knife off the desk and threw herself at Jon once again.

"ARYA!" Sansa screamed, her hands flying up to her mouth. The guards flew across the room, and grabbed at her, but Arya dodged each of them, focused purely on Jon, who cursed himself for not carrying a weapon at that moment. As she slashed at him, Jon blocked her thrust, catching her wrist.

"Arya, stop this!" He thundered, regretting it when she renewed her efforts. No one told Arya Stark what to do, and especially not after suggesting she marry.

In her rage at Jon, Arya left herself unguarded to then men behind her, and one of them caught her around the waist. Not missing his chance, Jon grabbed her knife hand, and applied enough pressure that she was forced to drop the knife.

"What do we do, My Lord?" The guard grunted, as Arya kicked at his shins.

Jon scrubbed his face. "Take her to her chambers," he ordered, "and station two men at the door. She doesn't leave, and no one is to enter unless on my authority."

The guards nodded, and dragged her, catatonic, from the room, leaving a stunned Sansa and Jon alone. Sansa stared after Arya, and then turned to Jon.

"What did you DO?" She asked disbelievingly.

Jon only sighed.


	9. Thunder Preludes

**DISCLAIMER: STILL DON'T OWN ANYTHING!**

 **Alright my mans, that last chapter was hella long; I kind of just write when I'm feeling it, I don't have a plan as such, so I tend to just keep the tab open and add to it when the inspiration hits me, and I forgot how long it already was when i started writing more lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it; the last part was all from Jon's POV rather than Arya's, but I hope it was chill- I'll probably continue to do certain snippets from other characters POV throughout, but it will predominantly be from Arya's perspective. At the moment I have paused on The Significance of Salt, as well as the other fics I am writing, to focus on this one, but it will be on the go soon- seeing as i have got exams this year, updates might be a bit sporadic. I apologise for this chapter being a little late as well, I meant to post last weekend, but I had quite a lot to deal with since then, as two of my horses died. I will try and catch up with this, which is my priority fic right now, but as I missed a week off, I also have a lot of work to catch up with at school, so I can't say how quickly updates will be coming in the next few weeks. As always, let me know what you think of the last chapter, and of this chapter, or any suggestions or questions you may have. Hope you enjoy this chapter, Over and Out x**

Arya grunted as she slammed herself into the door, wincing as the wood collided with her already bruised shoulder. Arya loved her door; it was huge, thick and tough, with a huge iron thumb latch, but best of all it had a heavy bar on the inside, so that she could lock the door from people outside. Unfortunately, the door also had a lock on the outside, that made it just as difficult for her to get out as it was for someone to get in.

After she had flown at Jon in his solar, the two guards had dragged her off kicking and screaming to her chamber, and locked her in. That was two days and nights ago, and Arya was still locked inside; three times a day the door would open just enough for a maid to slip in with food and leave it on the side, before darting out again. Arya refused to eat the food, and several hours later the maid would come back to take it away. On the first night Arya had thrown the whole lot into the fire place.

Of course, Arya had tried other things; as stealthy as she was, she had assumed that the window would be no difficulty, but to her dismay she found that there were bars on the outside that she had not noticed before; she could open the window well enough, but from that point there was nothing else she could do except glare at the bars.

She had even considered the bloody chimney; it was wide enough for her, and she could probably shimmy her way up, but it was too risky- she didn't know where it went, whether it narrowed further on or what.

So with nothing to do, and nowhere to go, Arya flew into a raging storm of frustration, and took it out on her room. The stupid incense and scented candles that Sansa had put there for her were long gone, Arya having disposed of them straight away, but the coloured rugs and hangings were still there, and Arya took great delight in throwing them out the window and into the mud and snow far below, and as much as she loved her big door, it made excellent target practice for her assortment of knives and such; Jon had had the guards check her room for all weapons on the first night he had locked in there, but they had taken only the obvious ones; Arya was no fool. From the offset she had made a show of leaving out her least favourite blades, the ones that were badly forged, or had a weak handle, or were too blunt to be of any real use; the rest of them were hidden, concealed in many different places that the guards had not thought to search. Once they had found the three that Arya had left out deliberately, and the two that she had purposefully made to look as though she were hiding them, they had seemed happy to assume there were no more.

But the truth of it was that there were a great many left over; a sword was inside her mattress- she had slit it open carefully, hid the sword, and loosely sewed it up again. The secret notch behind her headboard had two daggers; a false bottom in her wooden chest hid away a multitude of arrow heads, sharp stars and spikes. A loose stone in the wall could be taken out, to find a small niche in which there were many other things, including more knives, poisons in small crystal bottles, and of course, her faces.

A year or so prior, Arya had decided to leave her collection of faces in a safe place, rather than take them beyond the Wall, where she didn't know what she might find. In the woods surrounding Long Lake, to the side of the Kings Road, there was a hollow tree, in which Arya had stowed the faces away, and on the return to Winterfell it had not been difficult to sneak off at night to get them; the small group had made camp, Jon was asleep, and the two men on watch duty forgot to search the tree tops; Arya had made her way to her hollow tree by silently climbing branch to branch, tree to tree, and the guards had never even noticed she'd gone. She had been pleased to find them there, unspoiled, still wrapped tightly in leathers and furs, that she had smeared with mud and dust and poison leaves to keep away any animals that came sniffing. Of course, on her return Jon had noticed her disappearance, and asked where she had gone in a panic; it was too easy. Arya simply told him she had gone to make water in the woods.

Arya wished it was so easy to slip away now.

Arya flung knife after knife at the door, each one hitting its mark with precision; Arya could have done it with her eyes closed and her back turned- and she did. It made no matter; her chamber was large, but it was nothing to a trained marksman.

Arya slammed her shoulder into the door again, having taken the knives out; instead she had begun to use the bed post as target practice, seeing as it was much narrower, but still far too easy. The door barely shuddered at her weight, and Arya knew there was no way that she would ever break it down, but with nothing else to do Arya continued to assault it- or rather, it assaulted her, if the extensive bruises on her shoulders bore witness.

With a shriek of frustration, Arya whirled away from the door, grabbed a knife from the bedpost, and span, hurling the blade with all of her strength at the door jam, where it sank deep into the wood and quivered... inches from Jon's face, having just opened the door. He sighed in frustration, and yanked it from the wood.

"Arya, I understand that you are mad at me, but surely you don't want me dead?" He said, closing the door behind him. He tossed the knife in the air lightly, and caught it by the handle, testing the balance, nodding in appreciation.

Arya scowled. "You'd be surprised," she said darkly, sitting on the windowsill. Jon stepped closer, and flipped the knife, grasping the blade in his hand lightly, and offering the handle to her. Arya looked at him suspiciously, and took it, and without looking, keeping her eyes fixed on Jon, she tossed it. She didn't need to look to know it had landed perfectly between two others, sticking into the wood of her bedpost.

Jon glanced and lifted his brow slightly, clearly impressed... and in doing so saw the multiple other weapons, causing his brow to sink once more.

"I thought the Guards told me they had confiscated all of your weapons," he commented, picking up a chair from the floor where she had kicked it, and sitting down where the desk should have been- her having pushed that over too.

Arya scoffed. "They found what I wanted them to find." Jon shook his head, and glanced around the stone room.

"I understand you're angry, but did you really have to destroy the whole room?" He asked with distaste. Arya was about to scoff again and say he was over reacting, but he really wasn't; she had destroyed to room. Her mattress was slit open roughly, lying at an odd angle on the bed, feathers scattered asunder, her pillows either hanging off the edge of the bed, or on the floor. A collection of wool's and furs lay in front of the hearth in a nest, seeing as she had thrown away her sisters drapes and blankets. There were splinters of wood on the floor, and deep gauges in the wood from her constant knife toss. A goblet lay on the floor, beside a candle bracket that she had torn from the wall, and her maps and papers were scattered across the room in a wild array that fluttered when you walked past them.

When Arya didn't comment, Jon scrubbed his face. "Sansa was very upset when a squire found her bedsheets and hangings lying in the snow below your window," he said, "Did you really have to throw them out?"

Arya shrugged. "The colours were annoying me."

Jon pursed his lips. "You should apologise to your sister; she only meant to be kind."

Arya felt a slight pang of guilt in her stomach, but she easily ignored it, focusing rather on her anger at her brother. "Oh, so you're going to let me out then? I thought I must be some prisoner, seeing as I have been locked up here for nigh on three days."

Jon looked irritated and ashamed in one; it was a funny combination on his face, and seeing as they shared the same face- in a way- Arya wondered vaguely if she looked just as silly.

"Of course you aren't a prisoner, sister," Jon sighed heavily.

Arya let out a false laugh. "So what else do you call a person that you lock away?"

"A sister that won't behave; I could always lock you in the dungeons next time if you would prefer?" He asked in irritation.

"I would certainly prefer it to being in your company, that's for certain!" She huffed.

Jon banged his hand on the table, having up-righted it when he sat down. "Enough! I didn't come here to argue, Arya!"

Arya stood up abruptly. "Well, what else did you come here for, because I refuse to- to- enslave myself, as you have asked me to do!" She hissed, slamming her own hands down on the desk.

"I didn't ask you," He said loudly and thickly, "I ordered you! I understand that you don't want to, I can even understand that you are afraid-"

"Afraid?" Arya shouted. "Afraid?! I am not scared of marriage, I-"

"Yes you are!" Jon thundered. "I can see it in you! The very idea appals you!"

"Appals me, yes," Arya snapped, "Scares me? No!"

Jon stood up this time, and leaned over the desk, his hands braced opposite hers. "If you aren't scared then why do you hate the idea so much? You don't even know him!"

Arya leaned forwards this time; any closer and their noses would be touching. "You know what happens when a woman marries. Jon, you aren't stupid! Or maybe you are, I haven't decided yet," she snapped. "I don't need to know him, because I know that all husbands are the same! It won't work! He will want me to wear dresses and sing for him and sew little clothes for the babes that I do not want, and I will not have! He would try to take away my freedom!"

Jon blinked very slowly. By the Gods, he wanted to shake her, but with Arya, shouting and violence was futile, as it would only serve to make her angrier. He slowly sank into the chair again, and Arya hesitated before following suit, although it was a windowsill she sat upon.

"Arya, I promise that Lord Baratheon is not like that," he said, solemnly, "He wants you for you; I told him all about you, and that is what he likes about you. And I need this, Arya; there are those out there that would unseat me from the throne, and Dany and Aegon too."

Arya lifted a brow. "Maybe it is because they think you are too controlling," she said, obviously referring to the very reason for the argument.

Jon ignored the insult and explained. "Robert wasn't a good king, but he wasn't a bad one- or at least, he was better than the last Targaryen that sat the Iron Throne. There are people who fear that Daenerys, Aegon and myself will be the same, people who think that a Baratheon should rule instead, especially as he is Roberts son."

"Roberts _bastard_ son," Arya cut in.

Jon frowned. "Is that why you don't want to marry him? Because he is a bastard?"

Arya hissed. "Do you really think so little of me, brother? I don't care if he is a bastard, I would not want to marry even if the man was a handsome knight, or my best friend, or a bloody king with piles of gold and vast lands and strong armies; I don't care what whoever this Baratheon is like, I won't wed him either way!"

Jon tilted his head up, and stared at the ceiling, praying to whatever Gods were up there that Arya would see sense. "Arya, I need this, hells, the whole bloody realm needs this union-"

"Then have Sansa marry him if it's so damn important!"

"You know very well that I can't," Jon said impatiently. "Sansa has graciously agreed to wed Wyllas Tyrell, with the limpy leg; be thankful that Lord Baratheon wants you and not her, or you would be in her place! Perhaps you should try and be more like her for once."

"Well, Sansa always was so bloody perfect, wasn't she?" Arya spat. "Everyone always said so. Beautiful, beautiful Sansa, who sings like a song bird, and can sew the most perfect stitches, who is every little bit the Lady. I'm surprised that this stupid Lord Baratheon didn't ask for her, instead of little Arya Horseface, who runs about in boys clothes and acts like a peasant boy!"

Jon rubbed his jaw. "Is this what its is about then? You being jealous of Sansa?"

Arya's lip twitched in fury. "Jealous? Jealous of perfect Sansa, who is always so wonderful and never does a thing wrong? Sansa who has never had to fight one day in the last eight years for her life because of her porcelain skin and flowing locks?"

Jon clenched his fist. "Sansa suffered in the war too, Arya. She held hostage for years, never knowing whether she was going to be forced into marriage with the man who beheaded her father, or if she would suffer the same fate. She may not have been forced to fight but at least you were free."

"Free?" Arya said in a low, and monotonous voice. "Free? Oh yes, I was so _free_ when I was held at Harrenhal, and kept chained in the rain and mud. I was so _free_ when the brotherhood without banners kept me hostage, ready to trade my life for steel and gold. I was so _free_ when the Hound kidnapped me, and kept me tied up on his lap as he carted me all over the country." Jon stared at her, wide eyed, but Arya continued, her voice louder now, shaking with barely suppressed fury. "I was so _free_ when I was caught in Braavos and put on a slave ship. I was so _free_ when I was forced to fight in the arena for my life. I was so _free_ when I couldn't even use my name anymore in case I was murdered, captured, or forced into a _political marriage_ by the other side." Arya yanked a knife from her boot and stabbed it into the already abused desk. "Don't you dare tell me that I have been free, Jon, when I have never been so. I fought my whole life to free myself, and I am not about to sell myself to some Lord, just because he likes the stories you told him around campfires."

Arya yanked the knife from the table, and crossed the room, before banging on the door. The Guards must have assumed it was Jon, and opened it, allowing her time to slip out, leaving Jon behind her.

Jon stared at the spot where her knife had been, unseeing. So she had finally bared a part of her life to him; Jon had to admit, it made some sense now. As a child she had never really wanted to be wed to anyone, but she wasn't so against it as she was now. Frankly, Jon had wondered if he had already been married before somehow, and could not bear to do it again. Now he knew her reasons.

He had known a little, that she was captive by the brotherhood and the Hound, and she had hinted before that she had spent time at Harrenhal, but he would never have guessed... he had assumed she must have given a false identity as some travelling peasant. He never would have dreamed the rest, and he was certain that wasn't all of it. But she had been a slave? That he hadn't guessed at all. It explained though, about where she learnt to fight in such a way.

"Your Grace?" asked one of the Guards from the door. Jon stood up; the door was wide open, and the guards peered in. "Your Grace should we go after her?"

Jon watched as Arya disappeared around a corner, and shook his head. "No," he said. "Let her go. I don't imagine she'll be back for some time."

Arya stormed across the yard and into the stables, ignoring the stares of the people in the yard. People stared after her all of the time now, something that Arya despised; it felt like all those years spent being invisible were wasted now.

Astrid was in the last stable at the end, and Arya made her way to her with determination, thinking only of galloping as fast as he could away from her stupid brother; king or not, he had no place to order her around like that!

"Princess Arya, do you need any help?" A stable hand called, from where he stood, covered in straw and holding a broom. Arya didn't bother to reply. "Shall I fetch you your saddle?"

Arya wouldn't need a saddle. She flung the door open, and, grasping Astrid's mane, swung herself effortlessly onto the mares back.

"Princess Arya, it isn't safe for you to-" the words were lost in his throat as Arya cantered past him, blowing through the straw he had just swept up.

Arya cantered across the yard, and felt her stomach drop as the gates closed; she would never make it in time. She drew Astrid up into a sharp halt, causing the mare, to nicker in frustration and shoot up into the air, her front legs waving dangerously in front of her as she snorted. Arya did not worry; she just grasped the silky mane in front of her, and urged her to land her feet; Astrid stamped on the ground, making a loud noise. One of the guards at the gate approached her.

"I'm sorry, Princess," he said in a tone that said he was not sorry at all, "The King ordered us all not to let you out; you shouldn't be here at all."

"Well he just let me out, so open those gates," Arya snapped, feeling no remorse for her abrupt tone with him; after all, he was only doing his job. It was just annoying that he was exerting it on her.

Over head the sky was darkening rapidly, and Arya felt a raindrop land in her hair. Arya liked the rain; she loved it when it was wild and freezing cold, caught up in the wind.

"Your Grace," the guard said, just as a strong hand grasped Astrid's reins. Arya had been busy looking at the grey sky, and hadn't even noticed her brother approach.

She snarled down at him. "Let me go," she growled, trying to turn Astrid away.

Jon shook his head. "Not until you promise you'll come back home."

"I said _Let Go,_ Jon-"

"Promise me."

Jon's deep grey eyes stared into hers compellingly, and Arya felt her resolve to ride away and not come back crumble. Yes, he was a horses arse to try and make her marry, but he was still her brother, and all kings had to make hard decisions. He was only doing what he thought was best for the Realm. Even though he wanted her to, he couldn't force her. He just... didn't understand. He had lived in the North his whole life, he hadn't seen all of the different cultures she had; he had been raised to believe it was her duty as a woman to marry, it was unfair to expect him to think otherwise. But still, Arya was angry. But staring into her brothers eyes, the eyes of Eddard Stark, or at least, Lyanna's eyes, she couldn't leave him again.

Arya gave a single terse nod, and Jon let go of the reins. Astrid snorted in impatience as the Guards opened the gates, and the second they were wide enough Arya urged the mare through, leaving Winterfell and her brother watching her go.

* * *

Gendry looked up as Davos entered his solar. Gendry had received a letter, a letter bearing the seal of the Starks. However, Gendry couldn't read. He could figure out his letters, but frankly, Gendry just didn't have the patience to sit down and learn. He knew he needed to learn at some point, but for the moment he had bigger things on his mind, and Gendry preferred figuring things out in the saddle rather than behind a desk.

"You asked to see me, My Lord?" said Davos, with his thick Flea Bottom accent.

Gendry held up the letter, the seal not yet broken. Gendry didn't like to ask the maester to read for him; it was embarrassing and the maester wouldn't understand. Davos, however, had grown up similarly to Gendry, and had only learned to read in his later years, thanks to the Princess Shireen- Gendry's cousin, at Dragonstone.

Davos crossed the room, and took the letter, glancing at Gendry. He sucked in a breath at the seal. "M'Lord," he said heavily, "You understand that it may bear bad news? Either he said no, she said no, or she is already betrothed- I do remember she was promised to a Frey during the war."

Gendry nodded. "I know," he said, "but I need to hear."

Davos nodded sagely, and slit the letter open, and began to read aloud. He paused a little at longer words, but Gendry didn't mind.

"Lord Baratheon,

You wrote to me a moon turn ago, requesting a betrothal between yourself and the Princess Arya, my younger sister. I regret to inform you-" Gendry sucked in a breath, his heart sinking into his stomach, but Davos continued. "Wait, there's more: I regret to inform you that Arya did not receive the proposal well- but I assure you that it is not you, but the prospect of marriage itself that alarms her." Davos paused and looked up.

"That doesn't sound like a no," Gendry said hopefully.

Davos nodded. "That, M'Lord, is because it is a yes."

Gendry blinked. "A yes? But- but... it said that she didn't want to, didn't it?"

Davos nodded. "Listen: marriage itself that alarms her. Despite this I am sure that she will come around soon, which is why I accept your request to march immediately. You may come to Winterfell, and pick Arya up with the aim of taking her back to the Storm Lands. I will be leaving soon after you arrival, with my sister the Princess Sansa, for Kings Landing, where I shall have my own wedding; I would appreciate it if Arya could be there for the wedding. Unless you send a raven otherwise, I shall expect your arrival at Winterfell in two moons turns. Your friend, Jon Targaryen, King in the North."

Gendry grasped the side of the desk he sat at. He said yes... Yes, he said yes. Jon had agreed to a betrothal between himself and Arya. After all these years, he would really see her again; not just see her, but wed her. When he had requested a betrothal between them Gendry had not expected for Jon to agree. So Arya didn't want to marry anyone; Gendry wasn't anyone. Surely when she found out it was him she would be happy to wed? Of course, Arya had been far too young when they were with the Brotherhood; he didn't know her exact age, and it was difficult to judge because of how tiny she was, but Gendry had assumed her to be about eleven or twelve last he saw her; he was six or seven years older than her. She must be about sixteen now, nearly a woman grown, plenty old enough. Sure, Gendry was just turned twenty and two, so there was an age difference, but there were many Lords who married Ladies who were less than half their age.

The idea of riding south with her to Storms End, showing her his castle and his lands; Gendry grinned and stood up abruptly. He wanted to show her how far he had come from the apprentice smith she had known. He could see her now; showing her around his castle, sparring with her in the Yard, riding through his lands, sharing his big stallion, Rogue, just as they had shared a horse so long ago. He could see her speaking with the farmers, just like he did, and running with the peasant children. He could see her sharing a bed with him, lying in his arms, and Gods be good, one day heavy with his heir.

Gendry was almost tempted to just gallop North himself; it would take him half the time alone, or in a small group. But no; it would not be proper. Gendry was certain that Arya would prefer if it were just a small group, but the King would not approve, nor the people. He would have to take a whole host with him, all of the Lords and Ladies, and that meant Wheelhouses. It would be a nightmare to organise. If he wanted to be there on time he would have to start riding straight away.

* * *

Arya watched as the blood slid off of her skin, disappearing as mist down the stream, and washing away. Arya scrubbed it out from under her fingernails, and splashed water up her arms, where the blood had run down to her elbows. The rabbit was now roasting on a spit, its skin and organs flung away into the undergrowth, where some wild animal might have them for dinner.

It had been two weeks since she had fled Winterfell, and though she wished that she could stay out alone in the woods and forests, she knew it was time to head back; it would take her two and a half weeks to get back if she left in the morning. If she wasn't back within the month she knew that without a doubt Jon would send out his men to find her, maybe even call on his banner men. Whilst the idea did amuse her, Arya thought it would be better not to have Jon angry at her; perhaps if he was just relieved to see her then he would forget about the whole bloody marriage business.

When Arya had left Winterfell in fury she had galloped, albeit with breaks, for days, heading South; she wanted to travel North but she knew she would be tempted to go back beyond the Wall if she did, so instead Arya found herself in a forest near the Neck. She wouldn't go further than she was; that would be Frey territory, and Arya refused to go near that place.

The night she had left it had thundered and thundered, the sky full of heavy, black, low hanging clouds. There had been a driving wind, and rain; Arya had stopped in a little Inn, and had heard a peasant say it was rolling in from the Storm Lands, and it meant something was coming, for good or bad, depending on how the land fared; if the farmland flourished from the rain then good things; if the land was ruined, bad tidings were on their way. Arya scoffed at the tale. As it was, the storm had passed, and the land flourished; Arya hoped the old woman was happy.

As Arya ripped apart the now cooked rabbit she thought on what Jon wanted her to do. The very idea of marriage... it made Arya feel ill. How it was that Sansa had accepted so easily Arya would never understand. Jon could repeat the Tully words as often as he liked at her, Arya would not marry this Lord. Jon claimed that he was a good man, one that Jon liked and trusted well, but Arya did not care; many men were good and trustworthy, but she wouldn't marry them either. She remembered Robert Baratheon from when she had been younger; her father had said how he had been different as a youth, but she only remembered him as red faced, fat and drunk. If his son was anything like him Arya wondered if Jon must have gone mad to even suggest her marrying someone like that.

Arya had known from a young age that she didn't want to marry, but she had never really thought about it. She had wanted to be a knight in truth, though a part of her knew that it wasn't possible. While Sansa had dreamed of marrying a handsome Lord from a young age, Arya had just never truly considered it, until she spoke with her father that day in the Red Keep.

 _"You shall marry a high Lord and run his castle,"_ he had said _. "You will give him sons and daughters, and they will become knights and Lords."_

 _A_ rya had considered it for a moment and said " _No. That's not me."_

And it wasn't.

Arya wasn't made to wear pretty dresses and raise children for a Lord Husband. She wasn't made for sitting still. She was made to ride and run and fight; she made to wield a sword, not bear a son.

No, she would not be wed, no matter who this Lord Baratheon was. _He will just have to find himself another bride_ , Arya thought, _for he will not have me._


	10. A Dash for Freedom

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own nun' . Rights to Martin, the biggest G of the age.**

 **Привет, readers. Lol that means "hello" in Russian, and is pronounced pree-vee-et. I wish I could speak Russian properly, it's such a wicked language. The only other word i know is "красивая", pronounce Krasivaya, which means beautiful :) When i was younger i tried to learn Italian so that I could order pizza in Italian, but I didn't get very far. I still get emails from the website i tried to use to learn lmao. Oh I also know "Vas a comer eso?" which is Spanish for "are you gonna eat that?". And some Gaelic and Old english too, because I'm a massive history nerd lol. Not that any of you care about the languages i speak... anyway, last chapter kinda bridged my over long intro, so now we are really gonna get rolling with the story! If you have stuck with me so far, thank you very much for your patience :)) As always, any questions, let me know, I'm gonna stop typing now, and just get on with writing the chapter! Happy reading, over and out xxx**

Sansa wrung her hands with impatience as she waited with Jon and the rest of the Stark Household; he was late. Of course, Sansa herself had overseen the preparations, just as she had for Arya's arrival four months prior. She had even prepared the best guest chambers in the castle for Lord Baratheon, despite Jon telling her that he was unlikely to want to stay. Sansa couldn't see why he wouldn't; he had been travelling for two months, as had the whole host he brought with him. Sansa concealed a shudder at the idea- she had never really liked traveling; it was far too dirty and uncomfortable.

To be honest, Sansa was fair alarmed about the whole ordeal. Arya still did not know that she was betrothed, and she certainly didn't know that Lord Baratheon was arriving today. Jon had been perfectly clear that she wasn't to know. Sansa could understand why he wanted that way- it was likely that Arya would leave again if she knew. But still, Arya was going to be beyond furious when she found out.

It was times like this that Sansa really couldn't stand Arya's manner. She just had to be difficult. Any other Lady would accept her position with grace- just as Sansa had done- and have been out there waiting for her betrothed in a pretty dress with the rest of her family... but not Arya. No, Arya was out hunting, or some other unsavory thing like that. It wouldn't be so bad if she was just in her chambers, being difficult there, but as it was Sansa didn't even know when Arya would be back. It could be hours, days or weeks! That was the thing with Arya- no one apart from her ever knew what she was going to do next.

Arya had been back from her solo trip for a month or so, and Sansa had seen little of her. When Arya wasn't out riding or hunting or fighting or God's knew hat else her infernal sister chose to do in her spare time, Sansa was busy herself; what, with planning receiving Lord Baratheon, readying Winterfell for Bran to take over, planning their travel to Kings Landing and Jon's wedding, and then her own wedding, Sansa found that she had very little spare time. And damn it all, that as here a younger sister was supposed to be of use! But Sansa dare not ask Arya; no doubt, if Arya was left to planning a wedding, it would involve hunting, mass fighting and... ell, in her on case, Arya not having to be there at all! Sansa couldn't help but wonder just how this Lord Baratheon was going to get Arya to the alter; the only way that she could see was to drag her there in chains, and that was only if he could catch her.

No, Arya as not going to take to this well. Sansa had spent much time wondering on her sisters reaction; would she try to run? Try to fight? Scream and shout, or offer nothing but icy refusal? Jon had already anticipated that she might- would- react violently, and had had her room searched even more thoroughly that morning while Arya as away; They had found many, many more weapons than originally thought, and Sansa couldn't help but wonder how Arya had got them- and more importantly, why? Truthfully, Sansa had no doubt that her little sister had even more weapons hidden away that would not be found by anyone apart from Arya herself.

Sansa had been upset to see what Arya had done to her room, destroying Sansa's gifts to her. She had worked hard on it, done it specially herself, and Arya had clearly not appreciated them. The bed clothes had been ruined, stained by the snow and mud, so Sansa had had then dyed a dark grey colour to hide them, and put them back in her sisters room; so far, Arya had not thrown them out of the window. The incense and candles were gone however, and the bright coloured rugs replaced with dark green roughly weaved wool. The tapestries were gone as well, leaving the grey stone walls bare. The whole room was dark and bare looking, and even though Sansa had long ago come to the conclusion that her sister as extremely odd, Arya's lack of colour or detail only re-enforced the feeling.

Sansa had met Lord Baratheon before, when he had worked with Jon in the war. He was a good man, she thought, sturdy and strong and smart. He could be impatient though, and his stubbornness even rivalled Arya, and he was quick to anger; but Sansa had liked him well enough. To be honest, Sansa could even see him and Arya together; if Arya wasn't being pushed into marriage with the man Sansa had the feeling that the two would have been friends. No chance of that now though. Once Arya found out, she would be determined to hate him, whether he merited it or not.

However, Sansa rather got the feeling that there as something that Lord Baratheon wasn't telling them, something about his past. He as vague hen talking about his early years in the war, saying only that he had travelled with a few friends. No matter who asked hat it as that he had done, he would always reply the same, with a shrug, and "What everyone else as trying to do, I suppose; survive." Perhaps Sansa was just being suspicious but if Littlefinger had taught her one thing, it was that things were never as they appeared, and Sansa was sure that Lord Baratheon was hiding something.

Sansa was brought out of her musings sharply by the sound of horns blaring; he had arrived. Sansa quickly adopted a polite smile, and dusted down her dress; she had put on a deep blue dress, that brought out her eyes, with black trimmings and a wide, black leather belt cinched at her waist, and fastened by a silver buckle. A black and silver cloak hung about her shoulders too, clasped at the neck with a silver direwolf brooch. Sansa had long ago put away Sansa the girl, who wore soft pinks and greens, and now donned the attire of Sansa, Lady of Winterfell, and Princess of the seven kingdoms.

The enormous gates of Winterfell opened loudly, and the host came trotting through, the hooves of all the horses ringing loudly on the was no mistaking which one was Lord Baratheon; he rode an enormous, black war horse, right at the front, and had the unmistakable features of a Baratheon, in his thick crop of Black hair, immense height and strength, strong jaw and features, and piercing blue eyes.

* * *

Arya dumped the hares on the kitchen table, and wiped her hands on her breeches. She had been back at Winterfell for a moons turn or more now, and found she was just as restless as before. She filled her days with hunting, sometimes camping out overnight, and practising water dancing. She found that she struggled with settling back down, and turning off from the war of her youth; every person she saw was a potential enemy, someone who wanted her dead, or even a Faceless Man out for revenge. So Arya kept herself busy- and more importantly, ready for a fight.

Arya had been out for two days past, having gone out on a ride; she had picked off several birds and hares, even a stag, the latter now dropped off in the yard for her to drag to the kitchen next. There appeared to be some big feast in the Great Hall, and Arya assumed that Sansa had told her before she left; Sansa would no doubt berate her later on for forgetting, but Arya smiled a little because she knew that while Jon would silently disapprove for Sansa's benefit, inside he would probably be amused. He always was amused at her antics all those years ago, Arya thought, as she made her way to the yard. Him, Robb and Theon had always found her amusing. Arya remembered how Robb used to look after her; Arya had always been closer to Jon, but Robb had been a close runner up.

Arya had dragged the stag half way across the yard when two giggling serving girls emerged from the steps down to the kitchen, not seeing Arya in the dark. Arya straightened up, and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. The stag likely weighed more than double her weight, and she had struggled to get it across the yard. She leaned against the wall next to the entrance to the Great Keep, and caught her breath as the two girls walked past, their long skirts flapping about their ankles. Arya could hear the talk and laughter inside the Great Hall, and was thankful that she was outside in the chilly air rather than cooped up inside.

"Ooh, he's so handsome, isn't he?" Said the one girl, as they paused at the well in the corner. "I think I'm in love! I wish it were me he was marrying!"

The other girl clicked her tongue. "Don't be silly, Hernia, Lords don't marry the likes of us." She paused as she dropped a bucket into the well, and Arya heard the splash at the bottom. She smiled a little at their chatter; they had to be talking about Jon. All of the girls in Winterfell and Winter town fancied him, and Arya could see why. He might be her brother, and Arya might not care for that sort of thing, but even she had noticed how handsome he was, with his smouldering eyes and dark curly hair. Besides, everyone loved a self-made man. Arya couldn't help but listen to their happy chattering; she would tease Jon about it later.

"I must admit, though, he is particularly good looking- what with that wonderful thick, dark hair-"

"Oh, and the muscles!" The first girl exclaimed almost giddily.

"And that way he looks at you, like he knows you inside and out!" The second girl said with a chuckle, her voice a shade deeper than the other girls, making Arya wonder whether she was older.

"Oh yes, his eyes!" the first girl squealed, all but clapping her hands together. "So deep, and wonderful- and such a beautiful shade of deep blue!" She exhaled loudly. Arya shook her head; they were fantasising about a man they barely knew- his eyes were clearly not blue, but dark grey, like hers. Though, she supposed, they could possibly look just a little blue in a certain light... if you were standing far away.

"I wonder if other parts of him are so impressive," the second girl said musingly. Arya had to stifle a laugh; that she would definitely be telling Jon; he would cough and splutter, spit his drink out if she timed it just right. The first girl gasped loudly.

"Walfreda, you surely don't mean it!" She gasped, overcome by giggles. "You're terrible!"

The second girl threw another bucket into the well. "I meant his castle!" Her tone implied that she had not in fact meant his castle. "I've heard that it's big, and firm, and strong, and wondrous to behold!"

The other girl broke down in laughter. Arya put a hand over her mouth; this serving girl, Walfreda apparently, sounded hilarious. Arya wished Jon were there just so she could see his face.

"What's his castle called again?" The first girl asked, confusing Arya. The girl must be soft to not know, seeing as they were stood in it.

The second girl shook her head and sighed loudly. "Honestly, you don't know anything, Hernia. Everyone knows that the Baratheon Stronghold is called Storms End!"

Arya felt her eyes widen dramatically- they weren't talking about Jon at all. She could suddenly understand what they meant now; the blue Baratheon eyes, not Jon's. But how could they have ever met Lord Baratheon to know? He was the other end of Westeros, and these girls had a thick Northern accent. Unless... unless he was in the feast? Arya tried to remember anything about the feast, but she simply did not remember anyone mentioning it to her at all. Surely Jon would have said something if it was Lord Baratheon in there? Wouldn't have let her go out hunting, would have insisted she be there? Arya tried to hear what else they girls said.

"It's so romantic isn't it?" Hernia, the first girl, said dreamily. "Him coming all the way here to meet his one true love, and carry her off riding on his big stallion!"

The second girl snorted. "I doubt that's all that she'll be riding that's big," she said, causing Hernia to swat at her lightly.

"Truly, Walfreda, you're awful!" She squealed. "But don't you think it's just perfect? I heard, in the kitchens, that she doesn't even know yet- the King is going to surprise her with it on the morrow, and then Lord Baratheon will carry her home to his castle, and they will have a beautiful wedding, and lots of strong Baratheon babes- Oh, Princess Arya is so lucky!"

Arya felt the wind get knocked out of her as the younger girl finished dramatically, her hand on her brow. They couldn't be right, surely it was Sansa they meant, and it was Wyllas Tyrell in there? It had to be kitchen gossip, it just had to be- Arya couldn't-wouldn't- believe that Jon would betray her like this! He couldn't have betrothed her, unknowingly, to Lord Baratheon... yet everything seemed to fit. The girl hadn't described Wyllas Tyrell with his wimpy leg, but a tall, strong, black haired, blue eyed Lord Baratheon... and when was it that Jon had first told her of his plans? Two moons ago, perhaps more? That would have been plenty of time for Baratheon to arrive at Winterfell... and the feast, why else would he just throw a celebration, and not tell her about it? Arya paled as it all fell into place.

The two serving girls were just leaving, and Arya strode over to them; they surely wouldn't recognise her, wearing blood covered men's clothes, under the cover of darkness. She grasped the elbow of the older girl, who jumped, and dropped her bucket of water. Before she could shriek Arya spoke loudly.

"Who is it that is in that hall, right now?" She demanded, giving the girl a small shake.

"I-I, It's the King," she stuttered, "The King and Lord Baratheon!"

"Why is Lord Baratheon here?" Arya asked forcefully, giving the girl a little shake again when she didn't reply straight away. "Why is he here?!"

"He's to marry Princess Arya!" She said in a squeaky voice. "He's to ride off with her to the Stormlands on the morrow!"

Arya let go of the frightened girl, and backed away a few steps. It was true... Jon had sold her, tricked her into thinking she was safe, and then sold her. Arya span on her heel, and ran towards the stables, where Astrid was still tacked up. She had to leave quickly, before she was found. Nobody knew she was back yet, if she left soon enough she might be able to get a days ride on them, perhaps even get back beyond the Wall again. Yes, that was where she would go... she would ride North, and join the Wildlings again. She would have to assume a new identity, though... Grisser would no doubt have told Maeker who she was by now, and if she went back as she was, they would forget that she was once a friend to them, and hold her ransom. No, she would have to assume a new identity... Arya was suddenly very grateful that she had had the foresight to leave a single face in the hollow tree at Long lake. She had left it there just in case she would need to escape again, and it seemed that it had been wise.

Arya crossed to the stables, sticking to the shadows; she didn't want to be seen , and her instincts as a Faceless Man kicked in. She peered around the doorway, to see if anyone was there; just as she did so, she heard the doors to the Great Keep open, and two guards came out. Arya pressed herself against the wall. They were laughing about something, and Arya didn't have to strain to hear.

"The Princess won't be happy, that's for certain," one of them said while the other guffawed. "If I were the Lord Baratheon, I would keep her in chains until the wedding, lest she slit his throat!"

"I don't doubt that she would," the other said, "remember how she attacked her brother a while ago? Imagine what she'll do to Lord Baratheon!" They laughed loudly as they crossed the yard; Arya hissed as they stopped at the gate, just where she needed to ride out; she could easily get out on foot, but there would be little point- she would be caught in half a day; if she had her faces it would be a different matter, but they were in the castle. Like the one at Long Lake, Arya had hidden a couple, but they were too far away for her to get to before she would be apprehended. Arya supposed she could try just hiding out in some woods somewhere, but then what? She would have to get a horse eventually, if she wanted to get to the Wall, and that would mean going to a village, but Jon would have men scouring all of the villages by then. No, she would need to leave on a horse. Arya knew it would draw attention at some point, but she would have to kill the guards; if they didn't stop her then they would tell Jon immediately, and Arya wouldn't have time to get even half a league ahead of them.

"If I were Lord Baratheon I would make sure she didn't have any weapons at all," one of them said. "The King might have had us search her chambers again for weapons, but who even believes that she hasn't got more hidden away somewhere? If he tries to take her, and she's got that infernal sword of hers, he'll be dead in minutes."

The other guard shook his head. "Perhaps not- have you seen Baratheon? He's huge, almost as big as the Mountain is, and he's supposed to be almost as good as the King when he has a blade in his hand. Now, I know the Princess is better at fighting than anyone, especially a girl, has a right to be, but if I were her I wouldn't fancy my chances against someone who is three times my weight and two foot taller!"

Arya shook her head; they had to be wrong, surely. No one could be that huge, it wasn't heard of apart from The Mountain, and of course Hodor. But then, Baratheons were always enormous, even the drunk old king had towered over most. She cleared her head, and wondered of the time; it was dark, but the night was just beginning- the feast would no doubt go on for many hours yet to come. Just as Arya was pondering how long she would have, another three guards joined the first two at the gate; Arya cursed. While she was certain that she could take them, it would be messy; it would take too long, and be too loud, and who was to say that while she was fighting one of them wouldn't slip away to warn Jon? Arya changed her plan, though she didn't like her odds of success. She couldn't risk getting into a fight with them, she would have to trick them somehow. Arya remembered how she had escaped Harranhal, how she had said she was to pay them, flicked a coin on the ground, and then stabbed the guard as he bent over to pick it up. That wouldn't work now, not with five. She would have to try something else...

Arya caught sight of two empty saddle baskets hanging over a stable door, and inspiration hit her. She slipped through the door into the stable, and went straight for an abandoned wagon at the back. She collected some dirt and grease in her palm, and smeared it over her jaw; in the light it would fool no one, but in the dark it could look like a shadow of whiskers. She grabbed a piece of string, and tied her hair in a scraggly knot; shears would have been better, but she couldn't see any, and there wasn't time to use Needle to do it. She grabbed a cloak, likely left there by a stable hand; it was worn, and scraggy, but it had a hood, and that was perfect. She made to go to Astrid, and then changed her mind; they would recognise the mare too easily. Instead she found another horse, a dark bay that was chunkier than Astrid and already tacked up, and swung herself up, tying the baskets and bags behind her. She hoped this would work, she had no other choice... it was either pretend to be a man, or seduce them somehow, and Arya knew nothing that would help her in that field. Besides, getting too close would be dangerous, as they could recognise her.

Steeling herself, Arya pulled up the hood of her borrowed cloak, and urged the horse into the yard. She made herself sit slightly hunched in the saddle; not only did it make her look like a different rider, but the cloak fell in a way that it concealed her figure. The guards stopped talking as she approached them, and Arya was pleased to see that not only did they not have a torch, but they seemed well addled with wine.

"Hullo, good Sers," she called, in a rough and deep voice. "How fare you this even'?" She hoped that by appearing confident they would be less likely to suspect anything was amiss.

One stepped up; he was a little fat, with what Arya thought might be a ginger beard. "Well enough, 'tis a fine night. But what of you, where are you going?"

Arya gestured to the baskets behind her. "M'Lord sent me out to fetch more provisions for the feast," she said with a laugh. "The night might be young, but they have already begun to run out of ale. M'Lord bade me go to Winter town to fetch some more from camp."

"But there is plenty over in the kitchens," said another, a youth by the sound of his voice. "Why would he send you all the way out to Winter town when there are barrels just down in the kitchens?"

Arya forced out a laugh. "It's not my place to question a Lords order, but I would imagine he wishes to gift the King; what with the betrothal and all, it only seems good faith!"

The youth didn't appear convinced. "The King has plenty of good wine and ale," he said. Arya subtly shifted her cloak to better hide her sword. "Why would your Lord send you to fetch some as a gift? And who is your Lord?"

Arya swallowed; this could be risky. She didn't know who was at the Feast, if she said a Lord that wasn't there, then the game would be up. She went with the only Lord that she knew was there. "Well, the Lord Baratheon, of course! And a fine Lord he is too!"

Arya felt her stomach sink as a third guard stepped closer. "Lord Baratheon is my Lord too; I travelled here with him, and I don't remember seeing you at any point," he said suspiciously.

Arya shrugged her shoulders. "I doubt you did, Ser- I imagine you were out close by the front with the Lord himself; I was right at the back with the rest of the servants." She almost sighed in relief when he seemed to accept her answer.

"Aye well, just you mind that you be quick with the ale," said the first guard, as they cleared the path for her. "And be sure to bring a little extra for us poor cold souls too!"

"Well of course, Ser," Arya said almost gleeful. "The very finest that I can find!" And upon their nods of approval, Arya spurred the bay horse on to a brisk trot; she longed to gallop and go faster, but she couldn't, not just yet. It would look strange, and arouse suspicion of the guards again, especially as no one who sat a horse as hunched as she had pretended to would be able to gallop.

Arya waited until she was sure she was out of sight, rubbing off the grease from her jaw; it had started to itch and she was glad to be rid of it. Once she was far away from the castle, Arya urged the horse to gallop, and fought the urge to look back on the castle that had once been her home.

* * *

The towers of Winterfell looked as tall and imposing as they ever had; the ancient grey stone walls were as tall as Storm's End, but Gendry couldn't help but notice the differences between the two strongholds. Storms End wasn't quite as old as Winterfell; songs claimed that Storms End had been raised in ancient days by Duran, the first Storm King. It's curtain wall was a hundred feet high, unbroken by arrow slits or murder holes. Everything was round and curved, no gaps for the raging wind to get through. That wall was forty feet thick at its thinnest point, and near eighty on the seaward side. Storms End was made to withstand winds from the ocean, but not attacks from the land; it was not made to withstand a siege or attack. Winterfell was completely different, built inland, rather than over looking the sea. The outer wall was eighty feet high, while the inner was one hundred feet high, with a wide moat between them. There were guard turrets on the outer wall and more than thirty watch turrets on the crenellated inner walls. Inside Gendry knew that the complex was composed of dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. Weapons training and practice took place in those yards. The inner ward was a second, much older open space in the castle where archery practice took place. It was located next to the broken tower. Inside Winterfell stood the inner castle, which contained the Great Keep and the Great Hall.

The Great Gates were open, and Gendry turned to the huge host of men following them; they would be staying in Winter Town, a village outside of Winterfell, where there was enough space for tents, and an inn for those with gold and the desire to spend it on ale.

"At your best, men!" He shouted form the crest of the hill. "Today, we find the future Lady of Storm's End, and bring her home!" A resounding cheer rose from the men, and Gendry spun his horse, and galloped towards the castle on his stead; not all of his men would be able to follow, as he led to large a host, but his most loyal men would be there, along with Anguy, Tom o'Seven, Harwin, and the others from his days in the Brotherhood without Banners.

The yard rang loud with the sound of his men's horses hooves as the cantered through the great covered gateway. Gendry ripped off his helmet as he reined his horse up, and took a long look around him; the yard was as he remembered, though instead of people preparing for battle, a great number of people were stood waiting for him; he could see Jon and Sansa at the front, along with a boy in a wheelchair that he was certain had to be Bran, Arya's twin. He frowned when he noticed that Arya was absent. He had guessed that she might not be, but still, he had hoped.

Gendry swung from Rogue, and handed his helm to the boy that rushed up to hold his horse, before striding over to Jon, who had an expression of warm welcome upon his face. "Lord Baratheon," he said, "I had not expected for you to arrive so soon; when our watchers reported you were at the Neck I was surprised."

Gendry grinned. "Aye, well, as soon as I got your raven I set about leaving. Left Davos to arrange almost everything, the poor bugger, but we left soon as we could."

Sansa smiled warmly, but Gendry thought he could see something else there. "We're glad you were able to get here so soon, Lord Baratheon; it is good to see you. I trust you had an easy journey?"

Gendry laughed as Jon and Sansa began to lead him into the castle. "Aye, as easy as any journey ever is. The men will be glad to rest in Winter Town a while."

Jon shook his head. "We thought you were not planning to stay long?"

Gendry shook his head. "It isn't," he said, catching Sansa's dubious expression. "It's not that I don't want to, Gods know that I would love to rest a while, but I have important matters to set right in the Stormlands."

"Oh? What matters?" Sansa asked, as they led him into what Gendry assumed was Jon's solar.

"The usual," Gendry replied. "Been having trouble with raiders and such; it was fine when I was there, but I don't imagine it will have taken them long to go back once I left."

Jon sat down in a chair, and Gendry copied, almost groaning in relief after having been in the saddle all day. It was late afternoon, already beginning to get dark; Gendry had forgotten how short the days were in the North. "What of you, how is the King faring?" He asked cheekily, gratefully accepting the wine that Sansa offered him; normally Gendry wasn't a huge fan of the stuff- it was too sweet- and he found he preferred ale, but he wasn't about to be fussy.

Jon chuckled. "As well as it can be, I suppose, but I don't imagine you want to hear about that." Gendry smiled, hoping to hear that Arya had come around, but felt his stomach drop when Jon sighed, and scrubbed his face. "I know that you want to hear that my sister has come around to the prospect of marriage, but I can not tell you that."

Gendry swallowed the wine, where it left a cloying taste in his mouth. "Where is she now?" He asked.

Jon sighed heavily."She's out hunting, I imagine. She does that a lot. But she never stays away for more than two nights, and she left a while ago, so she should be back tonight." Jon paused, and Gendry held his breath. "I ought to tell you that Arya knows nothing of your coming, Gendry, and doubt that when she finds out she will be very receptive."

"Why doesn't she know?" Gendry asked, confused. He couldn't see the sense in keeping it from her, especially so late on; it would be a lot to process if they told her on the same day they left for the Stormlands. Gendry supposed that he could give her a day or two to let it sink in, but in addition to the part of him that just wanted to go home, he thought t would be better just to get her there, and consider giving her time afterwards. Besides, she would have a two month ride to get used to the idea before they even arrived. It wasn't like it was a hard concept either; it was just a wedding. And then everything that came after, but what else did she expect? She must have known from a young age that she would marry some day, so she had had her whole life to prepare for the eventuality.

"Well, when I told her, at the time I wrote to you about the matter first," Jon said, "Arya had quite a... violent reaction."

Gendry creased his brow. "How so?"

Jon hesitated, but Sansa picked up instead. "She tried to kill him-"

"She didn't try to _kill_ me," Jon protested, "Just... hurt me... badly. With a knife."

Sansa sighed. "She flew at him with a knife, and I heard the screaming from my chambers, so I called the guards. It took three guards and Jon to even get the knife off of her. She had to be locked in her chamber for three days- which she destroyed in that time- and then when Jon let her out she disappeared for a whole month. The only way that we could convince her to stay was to let her think we had forgotten about the betrothal. If she knew... she would be lost to us again." Sansa finished, leaving Gendry in a stunned silence.

He had always known that Arya was wild, that was why he wanted her so badly. When she first went missing Gendry had gone spare; he loved her, not romantically, at least, not yet, but she had at that point become the most important person to him. They had travelled together for years, and Gendry had cared more about her than he ever had for anyone. Not that he had had many people to care for. Sure, Tobho Mott had been a friend, a teacher, but ultimately he hadn't meant much to Gendry, as Gendry hadn't meant much to him. He had had his mother when he was little, but Gendry didn't remember anything about her really. Later on there had been the brotherhood, and the Inn at the Crossroads, where he had cared for Willow and Jeyne, and all of the other orphan children, but they had never meant quite so much as Arya had.

When he had met with Davos, and Davos had taken him to Jon Snow at Dragonstone, Gendry had wanted so much to say how he had been friends with Arya, how they had travelled together and looked after one another, but he couldn't; how could he admit that he had lost her? How could he look her older brother in the eye, and say that because he was angry, he had lost her, and she was probably dead? He couldn't. But still, Jon's eyes... every time that Gendry looked at Jon, he could see Arya staring back at him. In the end he had resorted to asking Jon about his family just to hear about Arya, and her life before he had met her.

It had been fascinating to hear about her life; he could picture it all so vividly, could almost hear her. It was only during his time at Winterfell during the war that Gendry had realised that he had fallen in love with a ghost.

"So... how are we going to tell her?" Gendry asked, dismayed to hear how adverse she was to marrying him.

Sansa and Jon shared a quick look, Sansa biting her lip. Jon cleared his throat. "Well... it's probably better that you aren't there when she finds out. If you are there, the chances are that she'll attack you, like she did me... Gendry, you have to understand that Arya isn't the little girl in the stories we told you."

Gendry swallowed. "Wait, what do you mean?" he asked.

Jon appeared troubled. "She... well, she won't speak of what happened to her during the war, but we know some of the places she ended up, and its not... she's lucky to be alive." Gendry swallowed. Did they know about Harranhal?

"What places?" Gendry asked, his stomach churning.

Sansa sniffled and looked out of the window, leaving Jon to explain. "Well, she hasn't directly said, exactly, but she's been captive at many places... she was at Harranhal at one point, and later a slave in Estaros. We found her living Beyond the Wall, with the Free Folk. Other than that... who knows what happened to her? The girl I told you about, she's gone. Or at least, buried, hidden deep away inside Arya. There are moments when I think we have our Arya back, but they never last long, and she's soon replaced by this interchangeable warrior, fire one moment, ice the next. Arya is completely unpredictable these days, the Maester even suggested we try drugging her." Jon stopped and rubbed his jaw. "Arya... she isn't the same anymore, and I am worried that she will never be the same again."

Gendry sucked in a breath. Arya, his Arya... the girl he had known had been so full of anger, but she didn't seem to have the same hatred for the world that the girl Jon described did. She had been so young back then... would she even remember him? Gendry had to believe that she did. If she did, Gendry was certain that she would have fewer qualms about marriage.

Jon looked him in the eye. "Gendry, now you know what you're taking on... are you sure you want her?"

Gendry met that eye contact. "I'm sure. There is no one else I want more."


	11. Recapture

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING AT ALL, RIGHTS TO GRRM AND HBO**

 **Hiya my lovelies, hope you're all well, I just saw the season eight teaser trailer, and honestly HBO? Unimpressed. We've been hanging on for a loooooooong time for this, we deserve more than fog floating across a 3D map. Has anyone else seen that meme? With Ygritte being like "You show nothing, HBO,"? Pretty funny lol. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed the last chapter, it wasn't hugely eventful I get that, but it was, as the Italians say, importante'... actually, they probably don't but you get me. So recently I have been flicking back and forth between characters POV but the majority of the story will be from Arya's perspective; there will be bits that aren't, but only really if its a scene that she's not in and its vital, but from this point on, it will mostly be Arya. Hope that is all good! Anyway, I shall stop wittering and just get on with the actual writing you all pay me for... well, no one pays me anything actually, but you know what I mean! Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, as always review, review, review! Over and Out xoxoxox**

Gendry had to admit that the feast was good; the Northerners were seldom jolly, but their feasts more than made up for it, though they had a completely different atmosphere to Southern ones. Not that Gendry had attended a huge amount of feasts. Gendry stifled a smile as Tom O' Seven pulled a pretty young serving girl into his lap, his hand up her skirts. The girl clearly didn't appreciate it, and in her efforts to get up, sloshed her jug of ale on him, causing him to jump up, wiping it from his eyes. Gendry sent Jon a subtle look to see if he disapproved of Gendry's men's conduct, and concealed a sigh of relief; rather than disapproving, the king appeared quietly amused by the proceedings, hiding a smile behind a goblet of wine- even if Sansa did not appear so impressed, with a quiet frown of disapproval gracing her face. Gendry would have been happy to allow his friend to become increasingly drunk, would even have enjoyed the hilarities that would have ensued, but not wishing to upset his host, he sent Anguy a subtle look, and signalled that he take Tom outside. Anguy nodded, and stood up, all but dragging Tom from the hall, whacking him over the head when he stopped to sing a song that Gendry immediately recognised as an extremely bawdy one.

The night was coming on late, the moon high in the sky, and Gendry found himself to be growing impatient with Arya's continued absence. He had expected her to at least be at the feast, though he supposed he couldn't really blame her, seeing as she had no idea it was even happening- though he suspected that she still wouldn't have come even if she had. Every time he thought of his bride, Gendry felt a surge in his stomach, of excitement or nerves he didn't know. What if she didn't even recognise him after all of this time? Gendry wasn't the fourteen year old boy that she had first met all those years ago, nor the sixteen year old that she had run from either. Gendry wondered what she looked like now; when he had last seen her she had been a scrawny eleven or twelve year old, wearing raggedy old boys clothes, with lice and scrapes and bruises, no shoes and a jagged hair cut. Gendry had no idea what to expect; he had heard fables of her beauty, but he couldn't picture it- the girl he had known was still too young to call beautiful, and odd looking, especially with her haircut and everything else to boot. However, he had no doubt that she still preferred men's clothing over women's. Gendry covered a smile as he remembered that night at Acorn Hill- when she had been forced into that dress, and had said she looked like an oak tree with all of the acorn decorations on it. Gendry had thought that she looked nice, even if she did look different.

It wasn't long before the feast ended and the dancing began; Gendry was glad he had sent out Tom O'Seven when he had. Gendry was watching from the table, nursing a glass of wine, when Sansa sashayed over to him, smiling gently.

"What is it, Gendry?" She asked teasingly. "You won't dance with anyone besides your bride to be?"

Gendry shook his head smilingly. "Well, I shouldn't like to offend anyone with my dancing, Sansa," he said. "Besides, I'm still waiting for Arya to arrive."

Sansa gave him a sad little smile. "Gendry... I know that you must be disappointed that she isn't here, but I'm sure that once she knows you, she'll warm up to you."

Gendry took a bitter swallow of wine. "She did know me once," he said quietly, "a long time ago."

Sansa raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem hugely surprised. "You knew each other? Before?"

Gendry nodded tersely. "We were on the run together; after your fathers execution Arya pretended to be a boy, and travelled North with the Nights Watch; Yoren was going to take her home." Gendry wondered what would have happened if she had made it home safely.

"I assume that she never made it home?" Sansa said gently.

Gendry shook his head, and was about to reply when the doors burst open loudly, causing the music to stop abruptly; the dancers stopped dancing, and the room fell silent, people pushing forwards to see what the commotion was. Being so huge, Gendry could see perfectly; Anguy had burst in, but appeared somewhat lost now that everyone was staring at him. His eyes fell on Gendry.

"What is it, Anguy?" Gendry asked, moving forwards. Anguy stepped closer.

"Well- its the guards," he said. "They found a dead stag in front of the Hall..."

There was a loud gasp in the room, and a smattering of chatter; it was a great offense, to kill the sigil of a house, especially while they were guests.

"What else?" Gendry asked, sensing there was something more. Anguy swallowed.

"The stable boy... he found Princess Arya's horse in the stable," he said, causing Gendry to stand up straighter. "and another horse is missing... the guards said that a queer man rode through not so long ago, seemingly in a hurry. Said you sent him to get wine from Winter Town, but he hasn't been back."

Gendry barely had time to acknowledge his stomach dropping, when there came a large bang from behind him. The crowd span around, to see Jon at the high table, his fist slammed onto the top, and a murderous expression upon his face.

* * *

"I want every man available out looking for her!" Jon shouted, rushing out into the Yard. "I want them ranging East, West, and South; I will ride North," he didn't even stop to look at Gendry when he added, "Lord Baratheon, if you would ride to the ship bay, East of here. She might be hoping to catch a ship." Gendry caught sight of the dead Stag, seemingly forgotten, and shook his head; why would she...did she know? It had to be a coincidence, she had just been out hunting after all. If it wasn't an accident, Gendry didn't even want to think on the consequences. Arya might not even know herself, but Jon's face said it all.

The king had been furious upon hearing that Arya had come back only to escape somehow, though Gendry wasn't sure if it was because of her escape, because his guards failed so badly, or because of the whole Stag affair. Likely, it was all of it; Gendry rather got the feeling that Jon was becoming increasingly frustrated by his sisters antics.

In no time at all Gendry was mounted upon his destrier, Rogue, and Jon on his own stallion. Just afore they left, Gendry saw a stunning grey mare kicking and snorting in her stable; it must have been Arya's.

"We ride and don't stop until we hear word of her capture," Jon said to his men, and Gendry had to agree; he was not about to let Arya get away from him now, not when he had come so close. Gendry trotted over to his own men in the yard, who were all mounting up.

"We don't rest until she's found," Gendry commanded."If you find her, you bring her back straight away, no matter what she says. I don't care if you have to bloody well knock her out to do it, but I want her found as soon as possible."

* * *

Arya slowed her panting horse to a trot and then a walk. The horse's quick breath came out in puffs of silver mist that dissipated in the cold air. Arya filled up her lungs; she had been riding hard for the whole night, in long bursts of gallop and then periods of walking and trotting to rest the horse. It would be another week or so before she reached Long Lake, and Arya knew that she would have to be careful; there weren't many villages in the North at all, but the further you went up, the less there were. While that did mean there were less spying eyes to report her to Jon, that meant that any tracks left behind were also even more noticeable for someone who knew what they were searching for. That would mean no night fires until she was much further away, and the nights were freezing. Arya wished that the cloak she had stolen wasn't so ragged, even if it had helped her get past the guards. She felt even worse for the fact that she had not thought to pick up more weapons; of course, she had already had Needle on her, and a spare dagger or two, but with people out searching for her, it might not be enough.

Not that Arya was unused to going it short; she had spent many, many years unarmed in the face of danger, but she wasn't about to go back to just relying on hiding and hoping that she wasn't found. Wasn't about to go back to being unable to defend herself, unable to really make decisions. And if Jon found her, and gave her to Lord Baratheon... that was right back where she would be.

Arya wondered whether they knew she was missing yet; it was the very early hours of the morning, still dark, but Arya was sure that they must know by now. She had left early in the evening, so they had had several hours to know by now. If they did, then Arya couldn't risk letting her horse walk for a huge amount longer- the more space she put between her and Winterfell, the better.

Had the useless guards raised the alarms by now? Surely they had. She would have preferred to leave behind much less evidence that she had been back, even if only briefly, but she needed to think about getting out fast first. But still, even the stupid guards would pick up on it soon; Astrid in the stable, the dead deer, the wine fetcher not having returned... and no Arya. Even if they hadn't seen anything amiss someone was bound to. If anyone even bothered to question the stupid serving girls they would soon find out exactly what had happened. Though, she supposed, even if they did, they didn't know where she had gone; she could have gone anywhere... but Arya had a feeling that Jon would know that she had headed North. With the unpleasant thought in mind Arya made to spur the horse on, when she heard a faint sound from behind.

Arya paused for just a second to hear it, and with a sickening lurch of her stomach, urged the horse to gallop, desperately trying to evade what was now clearly the sound of horses moving at a very fast pace. The horse protested at the need for speed yet again, exhausted as it was from Arya's rigorous riding; Arya cursed- Astrid would not have tired so easily, would still be champing at the bit, but this horse was clearly older, and a sturdier build, made for endurance and pulling wagons, rather than speed. As Arya urged him faster and faster, she could hear the group behind her growing closer and closer.

Thinking quickly, Arya lunged to the side, skyrocketing towards some woods. As she did so she looked behind her; the group had crested the hill now, and Arya's heart skipped a beat, for she was sure she could see Jon right at the front, a murderous expression gracing his features. Arya snapped her head forwards again, lifting herself high into the saddle, bent low over the horses neck, hips hiked up high. If she could just get into the vast and dense woodland she might stand a chance at getting away. Where their horses were all enormous destriers, the gelding that Arya had taken from the stable was much smaller- the same height as Astrid, and much more sturdy, but still, a lot smaller. Jon and the others would struggle to make it through the undergrowth.

There was a small wall separating the vast field land and the treeline, and Arya kicked her horse over a low part. She could feel the horse baulking beneath her, but he did it, and Arya ducked, her head lower than before, but even then the branches still tangled painfully in her hair, and whipped at her face, leaving stinging cuts. Arya had only been in the woods for a short amount of time, when she realised that the trees were not as dense as she had originally thought, and listening carefully, she could even hear horses crashing through the trees behind her. She could feel the gelding puffing and blowing beneath her, slowing down rapidly, and she began turn him off of the track, hoping that the thicker layer of pines on the ground might help to conceal the sound of his hooves... when she had an idea. Arya jumped off of the horses back as he continued cantering, and ran silently into the much denser trees to the right of the track. She could hear the gelding still moving loudly away from her, and Arya slunk away as fast as she could, keeping her head low.

She caught a glimpse of two horses go galloping by, clearly still chasing after her horse. She smiled when they didn't even pause as they passed her, and made her way carefully through the undergrowth, cursing when the stupid cloak caught in brambles. The trees grew thicker and darker as she progressed, and Arya decided to double back onto to track again, lest she risk running into the riders again. Arya slowly made her way back, until she reached the tree line looking onto the vague track she had first ridden along. Just as Arya was about to step onto the track, she thought she heard a snapping of branches behind her, and turned around to see what it was... but there was nothing there. Sighing in relief, Arya backed out onto the empty track, only to freeze as she heard a horse snort. Arya span around, to see Jon, glaring at her from his horse. Her breath caught in her throat.

"It appears you've lost your horse, sister," he said coldly.

Arya sucked in a shaky breath, forcing herself not to grab a dagger from her belt. "It appears I have," she said. "A shame. I liked him."

Jon scowled at her. "Arya, what in seven hells were you thinking?"

Arya felt her eyes flash. "How did you find me?" Just as she asked the question, Ghost came trotting out of the woods behind her, clearly the noise that she had heard.

"You aren't the only Warg here anymore," Jon said. He thrust out a hand aggressively. "Now get up, we're going home."

Arya stumbled backwards a step, shaking her head. "No, I'm not going back," she said, trying to sound firm, while inside she knew she was defeated. She may have teased him before, but she knew that Jon was an exceedingly talented swordsman, and his Bastard blade against Needle, when she didn't have the element of surprise... Arya didn't like the odds, but she would fight him if she had to.

Jon stiffly tilted his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Arya! This has gone on long enough! Now take my hand, and get up, or I swear to the Gods-"

"What?" Arya snapped, her hand on Needle. "You'll do what? Sell me off to some stranger? Punish me by sending me away? You're already doing that! I can't believe that you would do what you did, behind my back!"

Jon looked a tiny bit ashamed for a second, but it was fleeting, and quickly replaced by anger. "I had to do it behind your back, you wouldn't co operate! If you had just done what I asked-"

Arya hissed. "If I'd just done what you asked? Commanded, you mean!"

Jon's hands tightened around the reigns. "Commanded then! I had to, you wouldn't listen! I had no choice-"

"And you're giving me no choice!" Arya shouted, beyond furious now. "Why can't you see that I _can't_ do this? Because I can't, and I won't-"

"You can!" He shouted back, his voice much louder than hers and drowning her out. "You can, and you will!"

"Then you'll have to drag me back!" Arya shouted. "Because I will never do this willingly! If you want to sell me off to some Lord, then you'll have to fight me the whole way, because there is no other way that you could ever get me to do this!"

Jon regarded her coldly, before swinging down from his saddle, and unsheathing his long sword. The heavy Valyrian blade shone in the filtered light of the trees, and Arya pulled out her own tiny blade, her hands shaking. Arya cursed; Jon had another full sword at his other hip; Arya had one small dagger in her boot.

"If you want a fight, then so be it," Jon said, "but at the end, I will drag you to that horse, throw you over it, and take you back home, and you will wed Lord Baratheon, whether you are willing or not."

Arya swallowed; the odds of winning this fight were slim- her tiny braavosi blade would never stand against Longclaw. In the North it had been different; she had been rested and used to fighting for her life, and she had had the element of surprise. In a battle to the death, Needle would stand its ground well- it was small and quick, made to kill the opponent with agility and speed, but in a dual? She could never really hurt Jon, and they both knew it. In a battle to disarm the other, unless Arya was willing to seriously wound her brother, she could never win.

But this was her only chance at freedom. She wouldn't get another chance. It was fight, and maybe win, or refuse, and sign up to marriage herself. Arya nodded.

and lunged, Needle an extended part of her arm, aiming to cut his arm. Jon blocked it easily, and Arya was forced to whip Needle away; one sweep of Longclaw on Needle and the tint blade would snap in two, and somehow, Arya had little doubt that Jon would care if he did shatter the blade he had once gifted her. Arya wondered if he regretted giving her the sword all those years ago.

Arya span away as Jon slashed at Needle with his sword, hoping that she might strike his side, but Jon had the advantage of reach and a much longer sword. Longclaw was there to block her parry before she could even get close to him. Jon attacked next, and Arya was surprised by his speed, and, unable to use Needle to block him, lest it shatter, Arya span away again, lunging for his lower leg, but he was there already. Arya hissed and whipped around, throwing her weight into Needle. She felt her stomach sink as she caught the pattern; unless she wanted to kill him, Arya could only try to disarm him, but even if she did, Jon would not give up, and just catch her again, and again, and unless she killed him there was no way to break the circle- unless he beat her. If she disarmed him, he would just keep fighting; if he won, Arya would have no other escape.

"Arya, you can not win!" Jon said, circling around her, Longclaw half raised. Arya knew he was right, but she wouldn't, would not, back down and give up. With a snarl, she threw herself at him, Needle pointed at his sword hand; if she tried to swipe at his much larger sword, Needle would shatter, but if she could get close enough that he couldn't use reach as an advantage, then she might be able to knock him over long enough to climb on his horse and ride away. It was unlikely, but it was her best chance.

Jon seemed to anticipate her move, and before Arya could spin away, slashed his Valyrian steel sword at Needle, and forced the slim blade from her hand. Arya went to move away long enough to reclaim her sword, but Jon lunged at her, smashing his lower arm into her body. Arya flew backwards to the ground, the wind knocked out of her, and crawled backwards on her elbows, to see that Jon had lowered his sword. She was surprised to see that instead of the inherent anger that had been upon his face before, her brother appeared slightly remorseful.

"Arya, you know you won't win this," he said, barely even aiming his sword at her. "Just give up, for once."

Arya hissed, and blurringly quick, kicked Longclaw away from her, and flipped herself over, with one hand already clutching her sword, and the other holding her dagger. She couldn't back down now, she couldn't.

Arya lunged at Jon, hoping that her speed and agility might be able to tire him out eventually, and danced her blades around Longclaw as they fought, moving backwards and forwards on the track. After some time, Arya moved to press her dagger against his throat. Jon saw it coming, and used the pommel of his sword to smash into the side of her temple. Arya gasped in pain, and flew to the side from the force, feeling Jon catch her before she fell, before everything went dark.

* * *

Arya slowly became aware of a swaying motion as she came to. A small moan escaped her lips, and she moved her head to the side slightly; just that small action sent her reeling, and she felt something tighten around her waist slightly. Was it ropes? Had she been caught again? Arya tried to push whatever it was away from her, squirming sideways.

"Arya, stop wriggling, you'll fall off," said a deep voice from behind her. Arya struggled to open her eyes, and when she did everything was a spinning blurred mess. She felt herself lurch to the side, before she was pulled back... where? Arya breathed deeply through her nose, and became aware of an intense pain in her temple. She raised a hand to touch it, and gasped in pain, snapping her hand away again quickly.

"That's going to be sore for a few days," the voice said. Arya tried to turn around, but couldn't. "You'll have to rest a few days. That means not fighting me at every turn."

This all seemed so familiar... Arya couldn't think straight. When had this happened before? A horse, she was sharing a horse with someone... Gendry? No... no, that wasn't right- Gendry was with the Brotherhood... who was she with if it wasn't the Brotherhood? The Hound! Yes, that was it, the Hound had kidnapped her, he was taking her to the Twins... no, that wasn't it, they were dead... mother, Robb, dead, dead and gone.

"Robb..." Arya whispered. "Robb..."

The Hound stiffened behind her. "I'm not Robb, Arya. Robbs dead, remember?"

Arya sighed and leaned back a little, feeling tired. "I know. I saw it. We were there, remember?"

She heard a horse snort; there was someone else? Arya wondered who. "We were?" Said the voice again.

Arya felt frustrated; didn't she just say? "Yes, we saw it. Saw him. That's why my head hurts, isn't it? Because you knocked me out with an ax."

"I didn't use an ax, I used a sword, Arya," the voice sounded mildly concerned now.

Arya tried to shake her head, and went reeling, nearly falling again, but the Hound pulled her back into the saddle. "No. An ax. I remember. To stop me from going to them."

"To who, Arya?" Why was he calling her Arya? He never called her Arya.

"Mother and Robb. We saw it. I wanted to save them, but you hit me with an ax." She mumbled. Why didn't he remember?

There was a pause and Arya felt herself begin to drift off again. She was so very tired, and her head hurt... why did her head hurt? Oh, yes, because the Hound hit her with an ax. Arya remembered.

"Who do you think I am, Arya?" The voice asked again, tightening his arm around her.

Arya sighed, leaning the side of her face back against his chest. "The Hound of course," she mumbled sleepily. "You're on my list."

The person froze for a moment, and Arya shifted slightly. "Who else is on your list?" He asked. Arya wanted to open her eyes but they were so heavy.

"Joffrey," she started. The prayer, every night. Couldn't forget it. Had to remember them all. "Cersei. Illyn Payne. The Mountain. Amory Lorch. Meryn Trant. The Tickler. Raff the Sweetling. Polliver. Chiswyck. Weese. Dunsen." Who else? Arya knew there were more... "Beric Dondarrion. Thoros of Myr." Who else? There was one more... "The Hound."

That was her list. So important. She had to remember it, never forget. The voice behind her stirred again, rumbling in his chest. "Why are they on your list?"

Arya closed her eyes again. So tired, so very tired. "I'm going to kill them all," she said, barely aware of anything as she drifted off to sleep, just hearing him say one last thing.

"Sleep, Arya. You'll need it."

* * *

Jon sighed as he looked down at his baby sister, lying unconscious in his arms. He exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes. He shouldn't have hit her that hard; he had hit her as if she were a full grown man of his size, rather than a young girl that was half his size. He hadn't needed to hit her at all, really. They had both known that she couldn't win, not with Needle against his Longclaw.

But he had been so angry; why did she have to fight him at every turn? Years ago, when Melisandre had mistaken Alys Karstark for Arya, he had been so hopeful. _"A grey girl, on a dying horse, trying to escape her marriage."_ Had the red witch been right? Hadn't Arya just been riding away on a horse with dying energy, trying to escape marriage? Jon felt a surge of shame. When he had heard it the first time, thinking she was to marry Ramsey Bolton, Jon had been terrified for her, had even lead an army South to save her... why was it so different now? Yes, Lord Baratheon was a good man where Ramsey Bolton was a monster, but either way, she was being forced into a marriage that she didn't want.

She looked so young, lying in his arms, and for a moment Jon could truly see the little girl he had once known. The girl whose hair he used to muss, who always had a dirty face. Well, she still had a dirty face now, but everything else was so different. Jon felt a surge of shame; he should be protecting her, not fighting her. The second he had found her he knew that he had her; even from a distance he had been able to see that her horse was tiring. When she had stumbled on foot onto the track Jon had known that there would be no escape for her. If she had run, he would have just scooped her up from horseback. Had she refused to get up, he could have just picked her up. But he had known it would come down to a fight.

It was ill done, fighting her like that. He had been yet again surprised that she had been able to hold out that long against him. Jon wondered who would win in a fight to the death; she had won before. But that was just because he had been unprepared and not shattered Needle. That was all it would take in a fight- break her tiny Bravoosi blade, and she was a goner. Oh, Jon had no doubt that his little sister was far more dangerous than anyone else he knew... but when fighting with Needle, she just wouldn't win.

Jon scooped her up in his arms, and carried her over to his horse, before lying her over its withers and climbing into the saddle. He arranged her gently, so that she was sat in front of him, her legs, one on either side of the saddle, her feet ending a foot or more above his own, and her back leaning against his chest. Jon nestled her head against his chest, and wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. _She would hate this if she were awake_ , he thought, riding out of the woods.

He didn't have to wait long for his men to return, leading the horse she had taken behind them. Jon was surprised she had gotten so far on it; the animal was clearly not built for speed. She must have chosen it to fool the guards. Still, Jon was glad that she had not been on a faster, fitter horse; he would still be chasing after her if she had.

"Is she alright, your grace?" One of the men asked, Ramber Wyller.

Jon nodded. "She'll be fine. Let's just get back and send word to the others," He looked to Sam Kertson, and told him to ride ahead and send word to Lord Baratheon that his bride had been found.

Carrying Arya meant that the group had to stay at a slow pace, something that Jon found frustrating. He was just contemplating telling the others to ride on ahead when Arya stirred in his arms.

She squirmed in the saddle, and lurched to the side. Jon caught her and pulled her back against him. "Arya, stop wriggling, you'll fall off," He said, as she wriggled around again. She was so tiny in front of him, he was afraid that she might pitch herself off the side and hurt herself.

She groaned in response and lifted her hand to where he had hit her. Jon watched as she touched it and hissed in pain, feeling another surge of guilt in his gut for hitting her so hard. "That's going to be sore for a few days," he said. Arya tried to turn around, but gave up. "You'll have to rest a few days. That means not fighting me at every turn."

"Robb..." Arya whispered. "Robb..."

Jon stiffened as he heard the name fall from her lips. She must think that he was their dead brother. "I'm not Robb, Arya. Robb's dead, remember?" He must have hit her even harder than he thought, if she thought Robb was still alive.

Arya sighed and leaned back a little into his chest. Jon drew his cloak around her a little; it was cold, and she seemed to have forgotten one. "I know. I saw it. We were there, remember?" She said slurring the words a little. Jon was confused. Did she mean she and him had seen something, or did she still think he was Robb? A horse snorted in front of them, and he felt her body tense a little.

"We were?" He asked lightly, hoping that he might glean something about her past from her.

Arya squirmed in the saddle. "Yes, we saw it. Saw him. That's why my head hurts, isn't it? Because you knocked me out with an ax."

Jon frowned; she remembered their fight then. But he hadn't used an ax. "I didn't use an ax, I used a sword, Arya."

Arya seemed to shake her head a little, and swooped to the side. Jon caught her, and pulled her upright again. "No. An ax. I remember. To stop me from going to them."

"To who, Arya?" What did she mean? Jon didn't understand her.

"Mother and Robb. We saw it. I wanted to save them, but you hit me with an ax." She mumbled.

Jon froze in the saddle; she couldn't mean... she was there? Arya had been there, at the Red Wedding? How was she even alive? Jon knew that she had been betrothed to one of Walder Frey's younger sons at one point, was that why she had been there? Jon assumed that she thought he was someone else, that she was in a different time.

"Who do you think I am, Arya?" He asked, tightening his arm around her.

Arya sighed, leaning the side of her face back against his chest. "The Hound of course," she mumbled sleepily. "You're on my list."

Jon felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably, and Arya shifted slightly. Her list? Jon had heard her mumbling some kind of list before, in her sleep, but he'd never really been able to make out what she was saying. "Who else is on your list?" He asked. It was a second before she answered.

"Joffrey," she started. Jon started; why was she talking about Joffrey? "Cersei. Illyn Payne. The Mountain. Amory Lorch. Meryn Trant. The Tickler. Raff the Sweetling. Polliver. Chiswyck. Weese. Dunsen." Who were all of these people? People Arya knew? Jon didn't recognise many of the names, but for the ones that he did know, he hoped that wasn't the case. "Beric Dondarrion. Thoros of Myr." She paused again for a second, and Jon wondered if she was finished, but then she said one more name. "The Hound."

Jon didn't understand. "Why are they on your list?"

Arya closed her eyes, and then muttered words that sent a jolt through his heart. "I'm going to kill them all," she said, barely even awake. Jon felt dizzy, and clutched her tighter to him. So they were people who had hurt her, people she hated. That was a lot of people, and Jon wondered if that was even all of them.

She was barely stirring now, her breathing heavier, and Jon pressed his lips to her hair. "Sleep now, Arya," he murmured. "You'll need it." And she would.

* * *

Arya woke again, but this time far more suddenly. Her head throbbed in pain, but her mind felt clear. She had had such a weird dream about before, about the Hound. She wondered why, but already the dream was leaving her.

She opened her eyes with a gasp, and surged forwards away from the person holding her in place, but the arm tightened uncomfortably around her waist.

"Sit still Arya, or you'll fall off," the person warned. Arya groaned in reply. It was Jon. Of course it was Jon. Arya remembered their fight, and cringed in embarrassment. He had beat her so easily. She would need to get a proper sword; no matter how much she loved Needle it just couldn't bare the strength of a full sword.

"Where is my sword?" she asked suddenly; it wasn't at her hip, nor was her dagger in her boot. What if they had been left in the woods? How long had she been unconscious for?

Jon seemed to huff behind her. "It's with Kirtson, I thought it would be better if you didn't have a weapon while you were unconscious."

Arya grit her teeth together. "Or rather, because you didn't want me to stab you when I woke up," she snapped. Jon shrugged behind her, and Arya tried to turn around; Gods, she felt like some small child, riding like this, and worse, it reminded her of when the Hound had taken her.

"Stop trying to turn around!" Jon snapped at her. "You'll pitch us both off."

"Well let me down and I'll ride back!" Arya said, having caught sight of her borrowed horse.

Jon snorted. "If I do that, you'll ride off again. No, I think I'll keep you right here where I can keep an eye on you." He tightened his arm around her again, and Arya tried to pry him off of her. He squeezed her side slightly. "Arya, stop. You're riding with me and that's the end of it."

Arya wanted to hit him. "Stop telling me what to do!" She snapped, furious. Gods, he could be so up his own arse sometimes. He'd always been a little sullen as a child, but not as brooding as this.

"The stop making me!" He snapped back. "Gods Arya, you push and push, all of the time! Why can't you ever just do as you're told?" His thick voice was brimming with irritation. Arya tried to twist around again to see his face, but couldn't with the way he had positioned her over the horse.

"Jon, just let me down," she said, feeling drawn. She felt humiliated, and embarrassed at having to ride his horse with him after he had beat her so easily in the woods. "I feel like some stupid child riding like this!"

"Sometimes I think you are just a child!" Jon retorted, not letting up on his grip, despite Arya still pushing at his arm. "Besides, you used to ride with me like this all the time, whats changed?"

"Everything has changed!" Arya said. "I'm not your baby sister anymore, Jon!" She looked up at his jaw, and thought she saw a flash of pain there. Good.

"You'll always be my baby sister," he said more quietly. "I get angry at you, and I don't always understand you, but I do care about you, you know that."

Arya felt a hot rise of shame and anger and humiliation inside her and burst out "Its just- It's not fair!"She declared.

Jon seemed amused by her little outburst. "What isn't fair?" Arya huffed and didn't reply, but Jon guessed. "What, that I beat you so easily?" Arya ground her teeth together, and didn't move. Then, as if he wanted to make her even more furious, he continued. "You shouldn't worry about it, little sister. You did well to last that long against me," he said.

"Shut up!" Arya snapped, pushing at his arm again, desperate to put some distance between themselves.

Jon still seemed amused at her obvious discomfort. "You're actually embarrassed, aren't you?" he asked. When she didn't reply he poked at her again. "Aren't you?"

"Yes!" Arya snapped, angry beyond measure. "I won last time, I know I'm just as good as you! I could beat you again, I know it!"

Jon chuckled quietly, sounding smug. "No you couldn't, and that's what makes you so angry."

"It isn't fair!" Arya snapped again, aware of how much she sounded like a sulky child.

"No it isn't fair, but no matter how good you are with that tiny blade, you're still a girl," Jon said. "A small one at that. I could break you in half if I wanted to, Arya." He seemed to hesitate before he spoke again. "Who taught you to fight?" He asked her, surprising her.

Arya breathed in sharply. "No one," she said, breathless.

Jon frowned, but didn't question her. "Well... I know that you love Needle, but we ought to get you a proper sword. It was perfect when you were a child, but it can't help you anymore. I never intended for you to use it in battle."

Arya creased her brow. "What did you intend for me to use it for then?" she asked, confused.

Jon shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I gave it to you in the hopes that it might keep you safe if you needed to defend yourself. I never imagined that you would really need to use it." He sounded dismissive of her little blade, and Arya felt a spike of anger again.

"I learnt to fight with it because of you!" She said. "I learnt to fight with it because I thought that was what you wanted!"

It had been Jon that made it all possible for her to fight; if she hadn't been gifted Needle then Arya would never have had her first sword lessons with Syrio Forrel, would never have really thought that it was a path she could take; she would have carried on with sewing with Sansa and being slowly and unsuccessfully moulded into a Lady, and when their father was murdered, who knew what Cersei would have done with her? She would never have submitted like Sansa did, would probably have ended up in the dungeons, or hidden away, and traded like a brood mare, as could have happened to Sansa had Littlefinger not manipulated her.

To hear that Jon hadn't truly meant for her to learn the art of sword fighting... Arya felt a kick of upset in her stomach; she had thought all of these years that Jon had thought she was capable, viewed her as more than the youngest daughter of Ned Stark. Clearly he hadn't ever truly believed she had what it would take to become great swords person.

"And I'm glad that you did," He returned quickly, "but I wish that you would stop using it against _me_." And just like that he seemed irritated at her again. "When we get back, Arya, you will not be given back Needle." Arya made to protest, but Jon cut across her. "I'm not giving it back to you until you behave, so there is no point in asking. I'm telling you so now, so that I might save you embarrassment later on."

Arya pursed her lips. "I'm not some naughty little child that needs punishing," she snapped. "I don't understand how it is that you can say that I'm grown up enough to marry, but young enough for you to treat like a child!"

Jon exhaled violently, his breath fanning her hair slightly. The feeling irritated her greatly. "You're a grown up who is acting like a child," he stated bluntly. "I understand that you don't want this marriage, I understand that you haven't ever met him, and I understand that you haven't been home very long." Arya but her lip, hoping that maybe he would relent... no such luck. "But I need you to do this. You understand why you need to, so I won't explain it again. I am not only asking you as your brother, but I am demanding it of you as your King. Whichever you prefer."

Arya balled her fists and bit out "I'd prefer neither."

Jon didn't seem fazed; he simply shrugged. "I don't care which you prefer. You'll marry him either way."

Arya brimmed with anger, and clamped her jaw shut tightly, refusing to say another word. She didn't understand how it was that Jon could do this to her. Everything had been a lie; he had told her that she could go home again, see her family- or rather, what remained of it. And what had happened because of it? She had been made an outsider again, and trapped by Jon. Maybe he just wasn't the kind boy that she remembered; the Jon from her childhood used to hold her hand when she was upset, not give it away to make life easier for himself. Maybe he had grown so used to command that he couldn't even relinquish it for her. Arya didn't know. She should have just stayed North of the Wall; should have just let him walk on past her under that tree before they were attacked. Then he could have gone back alone, and she could have stayed North with the Free Folk. She wouldn't have the opportunity again for a very long time; even if she did somehow escape the guards that Jon would no doubt have at her sides at all times, they would know she was heading for the Wall- perhaps she ought to ride east, to Essos; she would have to steer clear of Braavos, but the other Free Cities, maybe. She could easily make her way as a sellsword- even if it meant getting a new sword. Anything would be better than at Winterfell, her once home.

They had been riding to Winterfell for many hours when they saw the castle; Jon had alternated between walking and trotting, which Arya found she despised- while Jon could sit easily on the saddle, she was perched somewhat precariously between Jon's thighs and the pommel of the Saddle, meaning that she couldn't rise nor sit comfortably to the gait. Cantering had been easier, due to the smoother pace, but it irked her how Jon held her more tightly then. Since he had commanded her neither of them had spoken, Arya fuming in the front, and Jon brooding from behind, and somehow the silence seemed loud.

Jon reigned up the horse as they peaked the hill, and Arya could see it now; during her escape in the dark she had missed the enormous camp out in Winter Town- there were easily half a thousand men down there, and Arya was sure it wasn't even the full support of the young Baratheon Lord. _He might not even be that young_ , Arya thought. She didn't know a single thing about him. The two serving maids seemed to think him handsome and fit, but then, all Lords and Knights were handsome to young and hopeful maids. _He could be old enough to be my father_ , she thought, as Jon said something to the men. _He could be arrogant or cruel or stupid_. She didn't much care- she would do anything she could to fight the marriage no matter what he was like.

"Arya!" Jon snapped; apparently he had been trying to gain her attention for a while. Arya exhaled sharply in reply. "When we get there, we will dismount first, and then I will send six of my best men to take you to your chambers, where you will stay. There will be men stationed at your door, and along the corridor leading to your chamber, as well as beneath your window. When we get there you will not make a scene, you will just go quietly." Arya snapped her jaws together in anger, still refusing to speak to him.

Jon waited for a reply, and the sighed testily, before urging the poor horse into trot, and then canter, making it once again difficult for Arya to stay on. She had found the long ride difficult; had she been on her own horse it would have been fine, but doubling up was immensely uncomfortable, and the hilt of Jon's sword had long been digging into her back. The way that she sat, and the horse being much bigger, forced her thighs wider than normal, and she found that they ached painfully, especially as Jon's own thighs were squeezed around them, constantly putting pressure on then. On top of it all, Arya was still dizzy from being knocked out, and her head was still raw. She wondered if there would be a bruise there.

The Gates opened and Jon spurred the horse through; thankfully it was late in the day, and the Yard had few occupants. Jon drew up the horse and dismounted smoothly, keeping a firm hold on the reins. Arya concealed a smirk; he clearly thought that she would just ride off the second that he had dismounted. Arya wasn't stupid though; the gates were already closed.

He stared at her darkly, and with a huff, Arya slid off the horse, stumbling as she landed. Jon caught her instantly, and checked her over quickly for hurt, but his eyes were cold, and his grip on her arm harsh. Arya ripped her arm out of his hand, and Jon's brow lowered, before he signalled that his men take her to her chamber.

The walk went in a haze of frustration and anger, but Arya was thankful that no one was around. She didn't know where Lord Baratheon was, and she didn't care, but she was grateful that he wasn't there at least to gloat. The walk , or rather march, went uninterrupted, until they passed Sansa's chambers; her sister strode out of the room just as they approached it.

Upon catching sight of her younger sister, Sansa inhaled sharply, and froze. "Oh Arya," she whispered. She made to take hold of her sister, but Arya didn't want to deal with her sister just then, and stepped past her, heading for her own room. She knew that she had probably worried Sansa sick, but she wasn't in the mood for a speech.

As the heavy wooden door clanked shut behind her, Arya stopped and stood still, fighting the tangle of emotions that were rising up inside her. It was becoming too much; the betrayal, the long rides both ways, the fight, her entrapment, everything; it was too much. Arya let out a choked sob from where she stood, before grabbing the nearest thing to her, and hurling it at the door, where it shattered and fell to the floor in pieces.


	12. Skills Pertaining

**DISCLAIMER: STILL OWN NOTHING. ALL RIGHTS TO GRRM AND HBO**

 **Alrighty my readers, hope you enjoyed last chapter, it was pretty long anyway. For those of you who are still reading, thank you for bearing with me- I understand that you're all probably starting to get a bit fed up with this, seeing as I promised Gendrya, and this is what, the twelfth chapter? And they still haven't reunited! I understand your frustration, really I do, but I had quite a large background for this story, so it has taken quite a while to set it all up, but this is the chapter where they meet now, so from this point on there will actually be Arya and Gendry interactions- in fact, from here on, most of the rest will be of their story as combined now; perhaps from differing perspectives, though mostly Arya's, but it will follow the same path now. I apologise again for the long, loooong beginning, but it was necessary! Anyhoo, hope you all enjoy this one, as always let me know what you think! Over and Out xoxoxo**

Jon sighed and leaned his head into his hands, kneading at his eyes with the heels of his palms. It had been two days since their return, and Arya was still confined to her chamber. Unlike last time, however, the guards reported that there was much less thudding of blades in the door. Jon was surprised by that; he had thought she would be even more angry this time. Then again, the guards had searched her room again and found a great number of weapons. He wasn't sure if the idea of Arya being uncharacteristically quiet was a good thing or not, and her continued quiet worried him. Every time he thought about her he got a lurch in his stomach, of guilt and anger and something that he couldn't quite name.

Lord Baratheon was to return within the hour, and Jon had no idea what to do; he knew that his friend was eager to get going as soon as possible, but he just wasn't sure that Arya was in the right frame of mind to travel right then. Still, he reasoned, quiet and seemingly calm Arya had to be better than a violent and dangerous Arya... didn't it?

He wondered about how Arya would react when she realised who she was really going to be marrying; Sansa had told him what Gendry had said during the Feast, and Jon hadn't been all that surprised. The way that Gendry seemed to speak of Arya- surely no one would be so adamant to wed a girl they had never really met? Besides, it explained why he had always seemed so eager to hear stories about Arya more than about the others.

Lord Baratheon seemed like such a good match for his wild sister; he was smart, level headed, clearly liked Arya for who she was, and accepted that she was never going to be a perfect Lady. Asides from being strategically advantageous, Baratheon was also not too different in age to Arya, being only six or seven years her senior, and being as enormous as he was, he would be able to hold his own against her torrents of anger. It also just seemed a tidy way of tying things up; a Baratheon Stark marriage had been long in the waiting.

That wasn't to say that the man was perfect, of course; Jon knew full well that he could be impatient and short tempered, but he didn't seem the type to take it out on anyone but a training dummy. And... if they really had been close during the early years of the war... surely that had to be a bonus? Jon only hoped that Arya saw it that way.

Jon had had an idea of how Arya fled Kings Landing after Ned's murder, but it was still good to have the idea solidified. He wondered how different things might have turned out if she had arrived at the Wall. He could have protected her. Kept her safe. Some of the older Nights Watch wouldn't have been happy about it, especially Thorne, but who cared about that? Arya might have been spared.

To be honest, Jon had considered asking Bran to show him Arya's life several times, as he had when he told Jon about his true parentage, but he would feel wrong doing it. Arya clearly wasn't ready for anyone to know about her life yet, and it felt sneaky to ask Bran for it all when he knew that she wouldn't want him to. But the idea was so compelling. Jon had spent years and years wondering what had happened to her, and Bran could tell him everything, show him everything. Maybe it would even make it easier to know- he might then be able to understand why she was so different now. Jon was tempted, he had to admit. But he wouldn't. Not for now. Not unless he had no other choice.

Jon groaned and stood up sharply, and wandered over to the window; boys were out training in the Yard. Jon almost smiled at them, standing with their wooden swords, just as he and Robb had once done. Remembering Robb... was painful. It was still hard to believe what had happened to his perfect brother. Even years later, Jon still felt that he should have been there.

When he had heard of Walder Frey's murder, and the massacre of his House, Jon had felt nothing. Not happiness, not sadness, not revenge. Just empty. Oh, he was relieved that the vile man was gone, and he was glad for his brothers justice- but other than that, Jon had not felt anything, apart from maybe anger that he did not get to do it himself. Whoever it was was someone that Jon would happily meet. Even if the whole thing had been disturbing; Jon still didn't understand how it had been done- the two sons in a pie, Walder Frey with his throat slit and face missing, the hundreds of dead bodies in the Feasting Hall, fresher than what remained of their Lord... No one had ever quite worked out how it was done, though many speculated it was a Faceless Man. The thought of one of the Faceless Guild in the area had made Jon highly uncomfortable at the time, even if they had rid the world of the Freys.

Jon absentmindedly rubbed at his burnt hand as he stared unseeingly out of the narrow window. To be honest, he had no idea what to do. Or rather, he knew hat he needed to do, but he was loath to do it. Arya would surely never forgive him. But then, Arya was like to leave and never come back even if he did cancel the betrothal. He was going to lose her again either way. But perhaps, with time, she would forgive him. Just enough to see him sometimes. Jon hated the idea of her leaving so soon, but he truly had no choice. As King, even if they hadn't officially announced it to the Realm as of yet, he had to make tough decisions for the good of the people, and this was the best way to do that. Besides, it wasn't as if Arya would be the first, or the last, unwilling bride to be. Though perhaps she was the first who would kill anyone that got in her way. Jon almost smiled at the thought.

Perhaps, with time, she would even settle down and enjoy married life. Perhaps she would enjoy running the castle with Gendry, and having someone that she could trust indefinitely. A life of peace that she never had growing up. Perhaps even having his children and raising her own family- it could be a sense of closure for her. From what Jon had observed of Arya she still seemed to be in the mindset of war. But the reality was that war had properly ended more than a year ago.

They had defeated the dead first; with Daenerys and her dragons, and all of the armies of Westeros and even some from Estaros, they had managed to defeat to defeat them. Jon himself had killed the Night King, with Longclaw, and the second that he fell, the rest of the army did too. The losses had been high, and it was only made worse when Cersei Lannister then went back on the peace, using the aftermath to her advantage. It had seemed that there was little hope... but then, out of the blue, the Queen had been assassinated, by an unknown, ending the war. No one had come forward, and soon it was accepted and left alone. But it was still very odd, and to Jon, eerily similar to the murder of the Freys. Several killed, no alarm raised, no sign of a struggle or break in, and killer at the end. It couldn't be a coincidence. When Jon had voiced his worries to Dany she had listened and then told him that whoever it was seemed to be a friend. Jon wasn't convinced.

The warning horn blared suddenly and loudly, snapping Jon out of his thoughts; he had ordered a watchman to report when Lord Baratheon was a three hour ride away. Perhaps he would send a bath down to Arya's chambers later. Jon didn't care how she dressed, or how clean she was, but he was sure that she hadn't cleaned up since she left for her hunt about five days ago. She probably would still refuse... perhaps he would send Sansa in, to make sure Arya actually bathed. Sansa might help to calm her sister- or enrage her further. Jon wasn't sure; with Arya it could go either way, but seeing as the guards reported that they hadn't so much as heard a peep out of her, Jon was inclined to risk it... after all, how much worse could it get?

* * *

Sansa took a deep breath before she opened the wooden door to her sisters room. She had no idea how she would be received, but she didn't imagine that it would be particularly welcoming. Upon entering the room, Sansa first noticed how freezing cold it was. Then she noticed how still the chamber was.

Sansa felt her heart drop. Arya was gone, and the window was wide open.

* * *

Gendry swung off of his horse, and marched away to Jon's solar, without so much as looking at the Stable boy that took his horse. He was fed up; he had ridden east for a two days and nights, only to be told that Arya had already been found in the North by Jon himself. He didn't blame Jon, or even Arya, but hells, he had waited long enough! He wanted, nay, needed to see her. See that she was actually real.

He rapped on the door to Jon's solar, his enormous fist shaking the door. The second that he heard Jon's voice, he practically threw the door open and strode in. The room was lit dimly by candle light, and Gendry suddenly realised that it was early evening. He had arrived at the same time six days ago, and had yet to see her.

Jon was stood at the window, looking drawn. "Lord Baratheon," he said wearily. "I apologise for what happened. I understand you being angry."

Gendry simply nodded, and was just about to speak when the door burst open again. Both men shot around; Sansa was stood there, attempting to compose herself, and the look on her face said it all. Gendry didn't even need to hear the words fall from her lips to know.

"Jon, Gendry," she said in a fluster, "she's gone again."

Gendry wasn't even surprised at this point, and from the lack of shock on Jon's face, neither was the King.

"How?" Jon asked in a flat tone.

Sansa shook her head. "I don't know," she answered, sounding confused. "The window was wide open though, but the guards below said no one had come out of it."

Gendry sighed heavily, and rubbed his jaw; would this just be a constant thing with her? "How long?" He asked.

"A maid was in there less than a half hour ago," Sansa said immediately. "I already sent down a guard to ask if any horses were missing, but I'm certain that no horses apart from yours have crossed through the gates. I sent all of the others off to search for her."

Gendry stood up a little taller; she couldn't have got far on foot. "I'll go right away," he said, looking at Jon. "I have to be the one to find her this time."

Jon gave him a long look. "She's dangerous, Gendry," he said. "She might not be armed, but don't underestimate her. If we had been on equal footing when I fought her, and she had actually wanted to harm me... I don't know what would have happened. You may have known her once, but as far as she'd concerned you are no more than a man who is trying to take away her freedom. She might not recognise you, and she won't give up easily."

Gendry nodded. "I know that," he said, "but I have to do this." He watched Jon for his response, and when he saw an almost imperceptible nod, he marched out of the door immediately, intent on finding his bride.

* * *

Arya listened carefully as Sansa sent the guards away to find her, and waited silently until she was sure they had all gone; when the sounds of footsteps had left, she peered cautiously from her hiding place; in her room there was a small alcove filled with shelves for books and such; the space below the bottom shelf was covered by a trunk, and just large enough for her to squeeze into. She had left the window open, and sure enough when Sansa entered the room and saw the open window and no Arya, she assumed that she had escaped somehow.

The corridor was empty, not a guard in sight, and Arya took her chance. This was her last opportunity to escape, and she would have to be quick. Her room had been searched far more thoroughly than last time, and though a few bits did remain they weren't of any use. A few arrow heads would be no help against a sword, especially without an bow or arrows to attach them to.

Arya ran silently down the corridor, and peered around the corner; not a guard in sight. Sansa must have sent them all looking for her. Gleefully, Arya made her way through the castle, keeping to the shadows and walls. At one point a group of guards came marching down the spiral staircase, and Arya had to press herself right against the wall to remain out of sight. She didn't even so much as breathe until they were out of sight, and then darted down the next set of stairs.

The Yard would be quiet; it was becoming late so few people would be out, and the guards would be out searching for her, and stationed at the gates. Arya was confident that she could make her way to the armoury without being seen, but getting a horse was out of the question; she would have no chance if she tried to escape on horseback.

Arya slunk across the yard, and into the armoury; it was locked. Arya cursed; the only people that had a key would be the Master at Arms, and Jon himself. Arya cursed under her breath- there was no time to waste. Once they realised that she hadn't even gotten out through the window they would know she couldn't be far.

The only other place to find weapons would be the forge, but it was right across the castle- it would take a long time to get there, and would be difficult not to be spotted. No, she would have to find weapons somewhere else. Winter Town, perhaps. Arya knew many ways to get out of Winterfell on foot; she had learnt them as a child, and she was sure that they were still there.

She made her way quietly over to the shed where spare equipment was kept, and climbed onto the wooden rooftop, and from there pulled herself up onto the top of the wall. She ran along the top in the darkness, confident that she wouldn't fall. Soon enough she came to a tree, that was close enough that she might jump across onto its branches.

Arya took a deep breath and leaped over; for a second she thought that she had missed the branches, and thought that she would fall to her death, but sure enough, her hands grasped the branch, the rough bark catching on her skin. Arya pulled herself up, and took a moment to breath deeply; she had to be twenty foot or more from the ground. But still, she had done more impossible things before. How hard could it be to climb down? All she had to do was not fall.

Arya had done a fair amount of tree climbing when she was younger, and while she was several years older now, she was relieved to see that even the thinnest branches seemed to hold her weight well enough for her to clamber down to the next one. Slowly but surely she made her way down, the wet leaves tangling in her clothes and hair, bark catching at her skin and nails. On the last branch Arya jumped down lightly, allowing herself to roll as she hit the ground. Arya looked up at the tree; she couldn't even see the top. Smiling just a little, Arya made her way through the trees, letting her feet take her towards Winter Town where there was sure to be an abundance of blades she could steal, what with all of the Baratheon men camped there; it shouldn't be too hard to find one. She doubted there would be any braavosi blades, but perhaps that was better- after all, Needle just couldn't stand the strength of a full sword.

Arya didn't know how long it took her, but the moon was out now, though it was still only evening. Dusk set in quickly in the North, and Arya was glad of it; it only hid her all the better from those who would seek to find her.

As Arya neared the edge of the treeline she could see Winter Town, not far away. She could see the shadows cast by the tents , dark against the numerous fires, even some horses corralled; perhaps she could take a horse too, now that she was out of the keep.

Arya was just about to step out of the trees when she heard a rider; she shot back into the cover, and crouched behind a thick tangle of brambles, watching intently as an enormous horse and rider trotted right in front of her. The rider pulled the horse back up, where it snorted and started, stamping its foot impatiently. Arya could see its breath in the frigid air.

The rider was huge, bigger than anyone she had ever seen before, asides from maybe Hodor and the Mountain. It was dark, but Arya had the eyes of a cat, and she could see that he was strongly built. He was searching, most likely for her. Arya didn't recognise him, he was certainly not one of Jon's men. Perhaps a Baratheon man. Arya decided to wait until he had gone before emerging, just as the moon slid out from behind a cloud, a ray of silver hitting the man and horse just as he turned and looked into the trees.

Arya stifled a gasp and stumbled back. Strong features, thick black hair, bright blue eyes... this person had to be Lord Baratheon himself. He was younger than she had first thought, though clearly several years older than herself, perhaps Jon's age. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Arya had the strangest feeling that she recognised him.

He surveyed the tree line, and Arya crouched a little lower, her heart thudding so loudly in her chest she was certain that he would hear it. His eyes seemed to sweep right over her over and over again. If she didn't do something he would see her eventually. Arya picked up a rock from beside her, and lobbed it quickly in to trees away from her when he was looking elsewhere. The noise it made drew his attention sharply, and Arya held her breath. He spurred the horse on, riding so close by her that Arya could have reached out and touched the horse. She watched as he disappeared into the trees, and waited to be sure that he was well into the dark before she made her move; she wouldn't go straight across the open land to Winter Town, with him so close by there was no way she would go undetected. Besides, who was to say that there weren't more men following him? Arya could see exceptionally well in the dark, but at such a distance it was highly possible that there were men on the stretch of ground that had faded into the dark.

Arya didn't like it, but it was safer in the trees; in the woods she risked running into Lord Baratheon again, but in the open land she was anyone's target. At least in the trees she was better hidden. Arya made her way slowly though the trees, where only slivers of light made their way through the trees. Every noise was Lord Baratheon on his horse, every movement Jon with Longclaw. Arya ducked sharply behind a tree upon seeing a pair of eyes, but it was only a fox, staring at her with curiosity before trotting on its own way. Arya sighed shakily; she hadn't felt so shaken since the Waif searched for her in Braavos.

Arya heard a loud crashing noise behind her, and whipped around, walking backwards on the balls of her feet, her breath coming out shakily. She couldn't see; the trees were too thick now, but there was something there, something big- was it Lord Baratheon? Or Ghost maybe, Jon seeing through his eyes? Arya hoped not. She continued walking backwards, until she became aware that there were less twigs crunching beneath her boots; she span around; he had backed into a sort of clearing, covered by a canopy of leaves. The grass was high here, and Arya saw the moonlight reflecting in a maze of pools of water that were surrounded by uneven ground and rushes as high as her shoulders in some places.

Behind her was another noise, and she span around on her heel to see what it was, but there was nothing there. Arya almost sighed in relief, just as there was another loud noise, and something came rushing towards her. Arya gasped and ducked down into the long grasses and rushes, exhaling her relief when she saw that it was only a large owl, its wings flapping noisily over head until it was disappeared into the night. Arya was just about to stand back up, when she saw the silhouette of a horse and rider emerging from the trees. Arya sank back down quickly, crawling blindly through the rushes. There was a rustling of fabric, and then a thud as feet hit the ground, followed by swishing of grass as Baratheon stalked through the rushes.

Arya tried to keep her breathing light, crawling on her back by her elbows; the wind that rustled the grass made it hard to tell exactly where he was, and in the dark she was afraid that she would bump right into his legs. There was a large thud to her right, and Arya shot backwards, her shoulder hitting something warm and solid. Arya flew away from it, and straight into a pool behind her, landing with a loud splash.

Arya gasped shakily; the water was freezing cold and went straight through her clothes, and her hair stick in her face. Gasping blindly she crawled backwards on her hands, shaking hair from her eyes. Lord Baratheon was stood at the edge of the marsh, staring down at her with his bright blue eyes. Arya swallowed, and raised her chin defiantly.

"It was a good attempt, I'll give you that," he said in a deep voice, that sent waves of something hot through Arya. "I almost began to think that you would get away."

Arya felt her teeth begin to chatter, and clenched her jaw tight to stop them. "I almost did," she snarled, "and if you even think for a moment that I'll ever stop trying to get away, then you are mistaken."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he said, and Arya could see his gleaming white teeth. "But you'll come around eventually. But," he added, before holding out his hand, "for now, we had better just get you home and dry."

Arya snarled, and ignored his hand. Taking it would feel like giving up. The man sighed. "Milady, if you stay here in the cold and wet you will get ill. You're coming back with me one way or another, whether you come willingly or I sling you over my horse."

Arya snarled again at the words, and made to crawl further backwards. Baratheon sighed impatiently, and waded into the freezing water, where it lapped around his mid calf. Arya snapped backwards but he grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her up and out of the water. Arya squirmed and kicked and writhed , desperately trying to get away from him, but he simply wrapped one enormous hand around each of her upper arms, and shook her lightly.

"Let's look at the facts here, Milady," he said, beginning to drag her through the grass towards his horse as she struggled on. "I am armed, you are not. There are hundreds of men out searching for you anyway. If you run, I'll chase you down. If you keep struggling, I will just toss you over my shoulder, and then my horse, and ride back to Winterfell." Arya tried to pry him off of her, but his grip was iron strong, and he was much bigger than her; his shoulders looked wider than the whole length of her arm. "You can't win this."

Arya relaxed suddenly in his hold, and he seemed to sigh in relief, but Arya suddenly grabbed his dagger from his belt, and twisted in his grip. Her attack was short lived, as he grabbed her wrist, and pushed against her easily. Arya panted as she pushed harder, the knife aligned with his chest. She glared at him in anger and frustration, as he smirked down at her, barely even bothering to defend himself against her. Arya snarled and changed direction of the knife, aiming instead at his throat. With what seemed like no more than irritation, Baratheon suddenly scowled and ripped the knife from her hand with ease. Arya gasped in pain as the sharp blade cut into the flesh of her palm.

She glared at him out of the top of her eyes, squirming when his grip on her arm became painful. He sheathed the knife again at his belt, and, using his spare hand, took her own injured one. Arya tried to pull it out of his grip, but he held on, inspecting it carefully.

"You can't complain," he said lightly. "After all, it was you who tried to kill me, not the other way around." He seemed to squint through the darkness at her injured palm, and Arya squeezed it into a tight ball, ignoring the pain, and the way that blood dribbled through her fingers. Baratheon sighed impatiently. "It will be fine. It's not far back to the castle, and I'm sure the maester will see to it right away." And with that he began to drag her back to the horse.

Arya hissed, and pulled back, putting her whole weight into it, but that didn't deter him. With no warning, the Lord grabbed her around the waist, and hoisted her into the air as if she weighed no more than a child. Arya shrieked in indignation, and did everything she could to pull herself from his hold, but he just kept walking, clearly not bothered by her weight or struggle.

"Front or back?" He asked lightly, ignoring her scrabbling at his arms. Arya cursed, and he sighed. "Front it is then," he said. Before Arya could further object he had lifted her onto the horse, and swung up behind her. Arya growled, and tried to jump off, but he kept his arm around her waist, as strong as an iron bar. He clucked the horse on, and the horse jumped forward eagerly, jolting Arya back into Baratheon's front.

"Sorry, he can be a bit eager sometimes," he apologised, as he weaved the enormous stallion through the trees with ease. Arya ignored him, still thoroughly fixed on trying to escape, not sure how she felt about being trapped between his two large thighs. Her clothes stuck to her, and her hair dripped down her back and in her face, and sent violent tremors through her body. Baratheon seemed to feel this.

"Here, lean back," he said, pressing her closer to him. Arya resisted, and he cursed. "By the Gods, I'm only trying to warm you up," he snapped impatiently. He seemed to wait, and as she didn't seem to argue further he pressed her backwards against his chest. Even through the leather he wore, Arya could feel his heat soaking into her, and almost unconsciously she began to relax into him.

They rode in silence for a long while, and Arya fumed silently. She had failed. She had been caught, and now she would never get the chance again. Jon was going to be furious at her. He would shout and shout, and then be silent, and refuse to listen to her. Arya wondered how far her brother would go in making her marry Lord Baratheon. Would he want it done properly, or as soon as possible? He could just have them wed that very night in the Godswood. Arya hoped not.

"I plan to leave on the morrow," Baratheon said behind her. With every step the horse took the man behind her pressed into her, his legs pressing against her own, and Arya was uncomfortably aware of it.

Arya snorted. "What, you've decided that I'm too much for you after all? Well, I shan't be complaining to see you leave."

He tightened his arm around her waist, and rested the other one across her thigh as he held the reigns around her. "Not at all, Milady," he answered, unperturbed by her insult. "rather, the sooner I get you home, the sooner we'll be wed."

Arya pursed her lips together, and brushed away a droplet of water on her forehead that was slowly dripping into her eye. "Why do you want to marry me so much?" She asked.

The Lord hesitated before answering. "Well... mayhaps you remind me of someone I once knew." He said, sounding wistful.

Arya raised a brow just a little bit. "Oh? And who was that?" She asked.

He hesitated again. "Just a girl I travelled with." Arya huffed.

"And my brother has informed you, I'm sure, of my opinion on this marriage?" She asked coldly. Why he would still wish to marry her, if he knew of her thoughts on it?

He shrugged behind her nonchalantly. "Like I said, you'll come round," he said confidently. Arya snorted, and didn't bother replying to him. "Why are you so adverse, anyway?" He asked. "Is it all men, or just me?"

Arya huffed. "Both. Why would I want to marry someone that I don't know, and give up all of my freedom for it?"

"I'm not asking that you give up your freedom," he said with a single chuckle, "just that you marry me."

Arya sneered. "That's the same thing," she replied coldly. She could see Winterfell ahead now. Brilliant.

"No it isn't," he argued. "I don't care if you want to work with swords instead of sewing needles, or wear men's clothing instead of dresses. You can ride and hunt to your hearts content, or you can go out with the common folk. I don't care, so long as-"

"So long as I tie myself to you in every way possible." Arya finished in a monotone. "I can do as I please, so long as I renounce my birth name and take yours instead. So long as I please you, and give you sons and heirs."

"Well," he said contemplatively, "that would be nice, don't you think?"

Arya shook her head vehemently. "No. I don't. That's not me, and if you really knew me, you would know that."

He stiffened behind her, and Arya wondered why. She had only told the truth. He didn't say anything after that, instead urging his huge horse into canter, causing Arya to grit her teeth at the uncomfortable pace. She had hated riding like this with Jon, but it was worse with Lord Baratheon, simply because he was so enormous, and because, in more ways that one, it was more comfortable riding with him than Jon, something that confused Arya deeply.

As they passed the gates of Winterfell a horn blew, and Arya knew that she would be escorted back to her chambers immediately. Lord Baratheon swung down from his enormous horse, and before Arya could protest, lifted her down in his strong arms. She had barely set herself on her feet, when she felt another, different hand on her upper arm, dragging her closer. A hand that she knew all too well.

Jon's face was grim, but, to Arya's surprise, not furious as she had expected. Angry, yes, but more saddened than anything, and not surprised. "Arya, you can't keep just running off like that," he said hoarsely. Arya's face remained stony, and Jon sighed, before he frowned. "Why are you all wet?"

Arya pursed her lips. "I fell in a marsh," she grumbled. Jon blinked, but didn't otherwise remark on it.

"Until you leave you will be kept in the room that adjoins to my solar," he said thickly. "Clearly I need to keep an eye on you, as you seem able to trick the guards and your sister so capably. A word of warning though, sister," he said, steering her towards the keep, "I'm not going to be falling for your tricks."

Arya crossed her arms and clenched her jaw for the rest of the walk, aware of Jon and Lord Baratheon walking each on either side of her, a pair of guards in front and behind.

Arya expected to be locked in the temporary chambers, but instead she was led to Jon's own solar. _Oh Gods, is there a priest in there, ready to marry us?_ She thought panicking. It didn't seem like something Jon would do, he was like her, like their father, he believed it should be done before a hart tree. If Arya ever did marry someone, she would want it done properly. Though in a way, it would be almost better if it wasn't, then the marriage wouldn't be real... it would still be legal though.

Arya refused to look at Jon as he opened the door, and ignored the guards that parted on each side of the door to let them through. The door shut behind them, and Arya searched the room frantically for a priest, exhaling in relief when the room was empty. Jon pushed Arya down into a chair, and then slowly, not taking his eyes off of her, sat down opposite. Baratheon sat next to her. Arya didn't look at either.

"How did you escape?" Jon asked heavily. Arya didn't answer. Jon pursed his lips together. "Fine. It won't happen again anyway." He looked at Baratheon. "Does she know?" He asked, clearly directing the question at Baratheon. _Know what?_

He shook his head. "Not yet. But she will." Arya clenched her jaw tightly. He took her hand in his, and Arya tried to pull hers away, but to no avail. "You asked me why I wanted to marry you, Milady," he said.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Arya growled. He ignored her.

"Don't you remember me at all?" He asked. Arya felt her brow crease. "Because I remember you, 'Arry."

Arya startled, her eyes widening. She hadn't heard that name in a long time... not since, not since she was travelling with Yoren. Arya jumped up out of her chair, staring wide eyed at the man sat before her, him still holding her hand tightly in his. She had recognised him earlier, but not ever guessed... the black hair was the same, though tidier than last she and seen him. He was huge, tall and powerfully built, and the eyes... startling blue eyes. It couldn't be him. No. he had left her. He was dead.

"...Gendry?" She asked quietly, as he stared up at her. He smiled gently at her.

"Hello 'Arry," he said softly.

Arya swallowed and stepped back. He seemed so different now, more... more... she didn't know. Older for sure, but now he had said it she felt a fool for not recognizing him sooner. He would have been about sixteen the last time she saw him. He had been tall and strong then, but he had clearly grown even more since then; even sat down he was almost as tall as her standing height. Arya swallowed. She had often thought of The Bull from her childhood, but she had assumed he died. Almost everyone she had met died.

How had he gotten to be one of Jon's friends? What had happened to him? When had he left the Brotherhood? So many questions, and she knew none of the answers. Arya stood as still as a statue. When had she last seen him even? They had had a fight in that brothel. The old man, that girl, her storming out... Arya hadn't thought about it in years. About him, in years. Why had Jon not just said who he was? Arya blushed; he had known who she was the whole time, and she had tried to stab him!

"Arya?" He asked, standing up. "Are you-"

"You stupid bull!" She shouted, shoving him in the chest. His eyes popped, though her shove barely even registered on his face. "Why didn't you _say_ who you were?!"

He blinked. Arya almost forgot Jon was even there, until he let out a snort. She span around. "And _You_!" Panic and amusement flashed across her brothers face. "Why didn't you say who he was? Gods, your both such horses arses!" Fake indignation crossed Jon's face.

She turned back to Gendry, who was smirking down at her. She shoved him again, harder. "I nearly _killed_ you!" He raised an eyebrow smugly, while Jon said "What?!" in the background.

"Nah you didn't," he said smugly, "You had a knife, but you didn't even come close to hurting me."

"You-you BULL!" Arya shouted, not sure whether she was happy to see him or angry at his joke. "You- both of you- tricked me?! For months! I almost hated you, Jon, for making me think that I had to marry some Lord!"

The smile fell from their faces a little. Gendry cleared his throat. "It's no jape, Arya," he said. "I truly do want for us to wed." Arya blinked.

"You're jesting," she said, disbelievingly. Her and Gendry married?

"He's not, sister," Jon said firmly. "You're still betrothed to him, like it or not. At least we can all laugh about it now though, aye?"

Arya blinked again, before looking back at Gendry, who was watching her very carefully. Suddenly she was transported back six years, to how Gendry had told her that he was leaving her for the Brotherhood. He had shattered her heart. He was all that she had, and he had left left her.

"Arya, whats wrong?" He asked. Arya met his gaze, her eyes flashing with anger.

"You left me," she whispered.

Gendry blinked. "Arya, wha-", but Arya cut across him, her voice cold.

"You left me," she said. "You were all that I had, and you left me to become some stupid knight." The Brotherhood were going to sell her to the highest bidder, and Gendry hadn't cared. He had left her, abandoned her.

"No, Arya, it wasn't like that," Gendry protested. "I didn't do it because I didn't care about you. I did it because you were going somewhere where I couldn't follow."

"I was being sold, Gendry!" Arya snapped. "They were going to give me away to the highest bidder, whether it was Wolf or Lion. And you were going to let them!" Gendry shook his head. Jon looked confused, but Arya didn't care, Gendry could fill him in later. "Just like you're doing now, Jon. I've had it, I have been sold over and over again in my life, traded like some horse- not again. I'm glad you are alive, Gendry, but I can't marry you."

"Can't or won't?" He asked, grabbing for her hand, which she snapped away before he could.

"Either!" She said. "Both! I won't, because I can't!"

Gendry made to grab her hand again, succeeding this time. Arya tried to yank it away, but couldn't. Her hand was tiny in his, and she felt like a child holding her fathers hand again.

"Why can't you? Gendry asked, sounding frustrated. "You just have to say some words in front of some people, that's all there is to it!"

"No it's not, you know full well that it isn't!" Arya snapped. She almost got her hand out of his, but her grabbed it tighter and pulled her closer to him. "It's everything that comes with it! Those few little words would be signing everything I've fought for over the last nine years away!"

Gendry scowled. "I don't understand, Arya. You were happy to see me a minute ago, what's changed?"

Arya wished people would stop asking her that question. "Everything has changed!" She said emphatically. "You've changed, I've changed- things are different now!"

"Different how?" he asked, his voice rising. Arya almost shook with anger and frustration.

"We're not kids anymore!" She seethed. "I don't know anything about you anymore, Gendry, and you know nothing about me!" It was true; she barely even knew herself.

Gendry grasped her by the arms. "I _do_ know you, and you _do_ know me!" He emphasised. "You have to marry someone, why not me? We;re friends, partners even-"

"We _were_ partners," Arya corrected. "How can you say that we still are after everything that has happened? We haven't been partners since you chose the Brotherhood over me!"

"ENOUGH!" Jon shouted. Arya jumped; she had forgotten that he was there. Gendry pursed his lips, but his eyes never left hers. "Arya, you will marry Lord Baratheon, like it or not. Like he said, if it isn't him it'll be someone else, and at least you know him- Sansa hasn't ever even met Wyllas, and she's not complaining!"

"Well good for Sansa, if she's so eager to sign herself up as a breeding vessel!" Arya snapped. "If that is what she wants then she can, but not me!"

Jon fumed silently from his desk, but Gendry searched her face. "Is that what you're scared of?" He asked. Arya made to protest that she wasn't scared of anything, but he held up a hand. "You don't want to marry because you're scared of having my children?"

Arya clenched her jaw together, and made to pull away again, to no success. Jon blinked. "Arya, everyone has children at some point, you can't just not marry to avoid it."

"Yes I can!" Arya implored. "You don't get it, do you?" Neither of them reacted, and Arya finally managed to pull away from Gendry. She looked at Jon. "You never get it, you never get anything!" She whispered, before storming out of the room, leaving two very confused men behind her.

A guard tried to stop her, but she snapped. "I know, I'm already going there!" Gesturing to her new chamber. Upon entering it was larger than her normal room, but Arya didn't care.

She let out a choked sob as the door was locked behind her, and sank to the floor in despair.


	13. Behind the Facade

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Nada. 0. Nought. Zero. Zilch. Rights to HBO and GRRM.**

 **He-e-ey my lovelies, I have finally posted on , so be sure to check that out there, or keep reading here- everything on my Quotev account is being posted there at "ellielovesicecream", if you prefer reading there. I'm honestly surprised how quickly I got a response on .net- in 12 hours it had had 700 views from all around the world! Really pleased with that response. Frankly, I'm pretty proud of myself for figuring out how to upload stuff on there- I made an account there two years ago, but couldn't figure out how to work it, so made an account here a year ago, where I wrote loads of stories, but never actually posted any until yesterday! After watching several tutorials I figured out how to work .net, so if you do prefer it there, please give it a visit! I will still be posting on Quotev though; I write them on Quotev, paste to word, upload document to .net, and edit etc there, so all publications will actually come on here first! Anyway, I'll let you get to it, as always let me know what you think, it really does help a lot, review, review, review- oh, also, hope you all have a brilliant, brilliant Christmas! I've been busy all day getting everything ready, I imagine a lot of you have been too! Anyway, I'll actually go now, hope you enjoy, Over and Out xoxo**

"Arya," shouted an immensely irritated voice behind her door. "Arya!"

Arya ignored it. If they were going to lock her in the room, then she would lock them _out._ Perhaps they might get the idea then, about how she felt. And she felt _furious._ Everything was just so-so- so unfair! She might not have been happy over the Wall, but she had been content. She wasn't one of them, but she fit in there. Here though... Arya wished that she had never come back. Not that she had had much of a choice in the matter- Jon had more or less abducted her.

But Arya had truly believed it was because he missed her and wanted her home- she was sure that was why he had found her, but it was like that now she was back, she meant nothing more than a bargaining chip- and worse, no one else understood. Jon was happy for her to be forced in to marriage, Sansa thought that not only was it duty, but what every person should want, Bran- Arya didn't even know what Bran thought about it at all. And Gendry... Arya had initially been so happy to see him, but when she realised that it wasn't a joke... it seemed even worse that it was Gendry doing this to her. For a moment, just a moment, she had thought things would be how they once were between them. But now... it just felt like another loss.

The room that Jon had relocated her to was similar to her normal one, though it was larger and lighter. However, it did, like her room, have a huge bar on the door to lock people out, something Arya had utalised within minutes of entering the room. The bed was finer than hers too, and looked exceedingly comfortable- but Arya hadn't touched it, preferring to sit at the window all night, allowing herself to simmer with anger. Several hours later, in the early morning, she was still sat there, fiddling with the laces on her boot... and ignoring her siblings growing steadily angrier and angrier on the other side of the door.

"Arya, will you open the door?" Jon called from the other side, clearly become increasing frustrated with her lack of response. Arya undid the laces.

"Arya, please just open the door!" Sansa called through, sounding much calmer if a bit more flustered. Then more quietly, "What if she's escaped again?" Arya smirked to herself as she heard Jon curse.

"Arya open this bloody door, or I'll have it knocked down!" Jon yelled, pounding on the door to emphasize his point. Arya hissed and yanked the knot together tightly, before striding over to the door, and lifting the bar. She didn't bother opening the door, but walked back to the window ledge and sat down, ignoring Jon and Sansa bursting in.

"Arya, for God's sake!" Jon growled, striding over to her. "Why are you not ready? The maid said you wouldn't let her in with the bath and fresh clothes- what are you even wearing?"

Having soaked her own clothes the night before, and not having anything to change into, Arya had stripped the bed and wrapped herself in a sheet. With as much dignity as she could muster, Arya lifted her chin. "It's a sheet. My clothes were wet if you recall."

Jon stared at her blankly for a second, and then with a tone of disbelief, said, "that is why I sent fresh clothes to you! If you had nothing to wear then why didn't you just let her in?"

Arya sniffed. "Because they were from you," she stated simply. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply, before turning to Sansa.

"Sansa, I'm going to leave," he said slowly. "I have too much to do than deal with this. If she isn't ready within the hour, I'm coming back up here to drag her down, dressed or not!" And with that, he stormed out of the room, sending Arya a filthy expression that she reciprocated.

Sansa watched as Jon receded, and then turned back to her younger sister, an exasperated expression gracing her features.

"What got his sword in a knot this morning?" Arya asked plainly.

Sansa smiled sadly as maids brought in a tub and hot water. "A raven came from Daenerys this morning; she asked that he wait another three weeks before he travels to Kings Landing for the wedding because there is too much going on there. He was looking forward to seeing her again, and he worries about her constantly, even though she's likely the most protected person in Westeros. He is rather upset at the prospect of their wedding being delayed."

Arya felt a pang of disappointment for her brother, but then remembered that she was supposed to angry at him. "Good." she said, before looking at the bath tub. "What is that for?"

Sansa lifted her eyebrow elegantly. "Well, I doubt you'll get much of an opportunity to bathe on the road, so I thought you had better have one now."

Arya felt her stomach drop. They were leaving today? So soon? She had hoped Jon would at least give her a week to get ready. Sansa seemed to understand, and patted Arya on the shoulder.

"It will all be okay, Arya," she offered soothingly. "Lord Baratheon is a good man; at least you're friends. I haven't ever even met Wyllas Tyrell. It will all turn out perfectly." Arya wondered if Sansa knew exactly the nature of her and Gendry's past, but Sansa stood abruptly. "Now, there isn't much time, thanks to you not answering the door," she gave Arya a pointed look, that Arya returned, "so get in the bath and I'll do your hair."

Arya gave a heavy sigh, and unwrapped the sheet as Sansa locked the door. When she turned around, Sansa's eyes dropped to Arya's stomach, and while her face paled she refrained from commenting, something that Arya was grateful for. Sansa hurried Arya into the tub, and immediately doused her in water.

Arya yelped- it was freezing cold. Sansa clicked her tongue. "It wouldn't be so cold if you had just opened the door." Sansa hastily rushed through soaping Arya's hair and rinsing it, before ushering her sister out of the tub and pushing her into a chair, where she began to hastily towel dry it, pulling at Arya's scalp.

"Now, I've already packed up all of your things- or rather, the things you'll be needing," Sansa chattered as Arya clung to the table edge when Sansa dragged a comb through her hair, "And Jon even packed Needle and a few other bits they found in your room." Arya felt her heart rise a little; she had thought she would never see the little sword again. Sansa seemed to hesitate a little bit there, and then, quietly added, "I'm not strictly supposed to say, but they are in that blue chest- you know the one?" Arya nodded. "Jon thought that perhaps you ought not have them until you calmed down, but that's where they are for once you're out of Winterfell."

Arya grabbed Sansa's hand and made eye contact with her in the mirror. "Thank you, sister," she whispered, feeling the familiar snakes begin to writhe in her stomach again at the idea of leaving Winterfell. Sansa seemed to understand, and smiled at her through their reflections.

"Now, Jon did ask that you wear a dress-" Arya made to protest loudly, but Sansa put up a hand. "I know, I know. But Jon says that a lot of people will be watching as you leave Winterfell, and he thought it would be better if you appeared more..."

"More willing?" Arya finished, her tone frosty.

Sansa nodded. "Exactly. He said he doesn't care what you wear after the first day though, so I packed a few of Robb's old clothes for you too." Arya smiled at her in thanks as Sansa wandered over to package she had brought in.

"I thought you hated the idea of me in boys clothing?" Arya asked, standing up, and swishing her hair; Sansa had a knack for making it feel light and fluffy, something that Arya never could achieve- not that she ever tried to.

Sansa smiled at Arya over her shoulder. "I really do think you should wear dresses more, but I figured anything to help make it a bit easier to bare. Anyway," she continued, undoing a stiff knot on the parcel. "I was going to put you in that red dress-" Arya blanched- "but Jon thought that something a bit more subtle would please you more, so I thought this one; I made it a for you when you first came home- it was one of mine when we were younger. What do you think?" She pulled it from the paper, and held it up for Arya's inspection.

Arya recognised the dress; Sansa had worn it on the day of the Hands Tourney. It was a greyish blue, with a square neckline, adorned with delicate roses, while vines and leaves trailed their way down the sides, leading to embroidered direwolves. The sleeves were long, and billowing at the wrists, but overall, it wasn't as fancy as the one Sansa usually threw at her.

Arya nodded. "Thank you sister." While she had to admit the dress wasn't too bad, she would still have preferred to not wear one at all, but what choice did she have? Her only clothes in the room were soaked, so it was either the dress or the bed sheet. For a moment Arya considered choosing the bed sheet, if only to irk Jon, but decided against it. If she infuriated him too much he might change his mind about letting her have Needle back.

Sansa beamed, and fifteen minutes later, Arya was fully dressed and ready to go... as well as wheezing and clutching a bed post.

"How... do you... always wear these?" She gasped, feeling suffocated by the tight corset like bodice.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. Anyway, it goes away in a minute, so we had better just head down in a moment- shall I do anything with your hair?"

Arya was about to shake her head, but then considered and changed her mind. "Perhaps- nothing fancy, but just something that keeps it loose, but out of my face? I don't like having it tied up, it hurts my head."

Sansa beamed at her, and pushed her into the chair. While she fiddled with Arya's hair she smiled wistfully. "I always wanted to play with your hair when we were little. It wasn't as striking as mine, nor as fine, but it was always much thicker. How is that?" She had twisted the sides of Arya's hair to the back of her head in two plaits on either side, and fastened then with a little silver clip. Simple, but neat. Arya smiled, and wanted to say thank you, when she was struck by how little time she had left with Sansa.

Sansa saw Arya's change in attitude, and put a hand on her shoulder. "I know that you hate this, sister," she said softly. "I know it's not fear, I know that its anger- sometimes I feel the same. That men just use women as bargaining tools. You know that I always wanted marriage and children, so I don't mind, but for you... I understand. The idea of it must be awful. But it will be fine, I promise. He is a good man, and I can see that he cares for you. He'll give you more freedom than anyone else would, and probably love you all the more for your wildness. All will be fine, you'll see." Sansa cleared her throat and stepped away.

Arya gave herself one last check in the mirror, wincing at how feminine she looked, and then stood up. Sansa was watching her carefully, and Arya swallowed. "Thank you, Sansa," she said, "for everything. I know I'm not a very good sister, but I truly shall miss you."

Sansa gave a watery smile, and, before Arya could react, embraced her, wrapping her arms around Arya, who stood frozen, before slowly lifting her own arms. Sansa smelt sweet, and Arya found herself breathing it in. Sansa smelt like their mother had, and the sudden realization forced Arya to pull away.

Sansa wiped her eye, where she had started to tear up a little. "Mother and father would be so proud of you, Robb too," she said. Arya swallowed, and inhaled shakily. "Right, lets head down, or Jon will throw a fit."

As Sansa led the way down to the entrance hall, Arya stumbled and wobbled in the black heels. She was used to long leather boots, that were flat save for the small heels at the back, but these were different; aside from the heels themselves, there was no support at all, and they felt too light on her feet. Arya cursed; how could women wear these all day, everyday? These would be going as soon as they passed the gates of Winterfell.

The walk seemed simultaneously the shortest and longest Arya had ever taken, her mind and stomach jumbling messes of nerves and anger, but it was only ten minutes before they reached the entrance hall. Several people were milling around, chatting in little groups, and through the enormous doors Arya could see an even bigger crowd outside.

Jon stood at the base of the stairs, staring up at her. Arya kept her face blank while Sansa greeted him.

"You look beautiful, Arya," Jon said awkwardly. Arya looked at him blankly.

Sansa cleared her throat. "I'm going to go and get everyone outside ready," she said, smiling at each before leaving. Arya watched as her graceful older sister joined one of the little groups graciously and gestured outside. As the hall emptied Arya and Jon stood in silence, neither really making eye contact.

Jon cleared his throat. "You really do... look lovely, I mean." He offered. Arya blinked at him slowly.

"Thank you," she said curtly, before adding, "It's Sansa's. Was hers. It's too small for her now."

"It's very..." Jon struggled for the right word, "pretty."

Arya almost smiled at his awkwardness. "I would rather not be wearing a dress at all, but thank you." She said coldly, not offering a smile.

Jon sighed and shifted his foot a little. "I know," he said sadly, surprising Arya. "And I know you don't want to go at all. I know you don't want to get married, and I know that you must hate me, but I need this alliance."

Arya stared at him wide eyed, before swallowing. "I could never truly hate you, Jon," she said quietly. "I might be angry at you- which I am- but I'll never love you less." The words were difficult to get out, but Arya realised that they were true. It had always been Jon she loved the most, always Jon she missed the most. As king he had to make difficult choices, and in that moment Arya knew that Jon wasn't doing it because he wanted to, but because he had to. He had at least betrothed her to someone she was once friends with, and made it as easy as he could for her. And what had Arya done in return? She was mad at him for it all, but part of her knew that he felt awful about it, even if he was a horses arse.

Arya had spent the last decade missing him more than anyone, and for the last month or so she had spent it being angry at him. And now she was about to leave and live thousands of miles away from him again. Arya felt her throat block up, and suddenly, without thinking, she threw her arms around him, as she had done all those years ago when he gave her Needle.

Jon was surprised, but welcomed it, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin on her shoulder. Her feet dangled off the ground, and her arms wrapped around his neck. He felt so familiar to hold, and Arya truly had to fight the tears away; when would she see him again?

After a few minutes of holding each other, Arya allowed herself to slide down. "Don't think I'm not still mad at you," she warned.

Jon chuckled. "Understood. Your dress is all rucked up," he said. Arya scowled as she tried to straighten it. As she did so, Jon moved away, and picked something up from the side of the stairs that Arya had not seen.

He began to unwrap it. "Most ladies would receive a necklace or such from their family when they leave to be wed, but I thought that we ought to keep up tradition," he said. "It was time you had a new one anyway." He finished unwrapping it, and passed it to her.

Arya felt her eyes widen as she took hold of it; a beautiful new sword. Smaller still than Longclaw, but a proper sword nonetheless. It's pommel was like Jon's, but where his wolf was white like Ghost, hers was grey, with black stones for eyes. It was perfect for her- not as big as Jon's bastard blade, but longer than a short sword. Arya gasped as she slid it out of the sheath; it was Valyrian steel. She looked up at Jon.

"H- How- _Jon_ ," She breathed, unable to believe it.

Jon chuckled. "This is one of the Targaryen blades," he said, while Arya stared at him wide eyed. "It's called Dark Sister, but you can re-name it if you like. I thought it was just right for you; I already have Longclaw, and Aegon - my brother Aegon- has Aegon the Conquerors sword, Blackfyre. This was his sister, Visenya's, sword. I thought that you ought to have a proper sword at last."

Arya was speechless. This sword was more than three hundred years old, must date back to the Doom of Valyria. And to have been Visenya's... as a young girl Arya had adored the stories about Aegon, but more so his two sisters, Rheanys and Visenya. Both so different, yet both so amazing. To own the sword that was once Visenya's... Arya couldn't believe it. Visenya was fabled to have been even more ruthless than her brother; this sword had played a huge part in conquering Westeros. It was much heavier than Needle, and she would have to practice everyday with it- but Arya still couldn't believe it.

"Jon... are you sure?" She asked. "It's your family's, not mine."

Jon shook his head. "It;s yours, Arya; if I take it, it will go to waste. You take it."

"I... thank you," she whispered, unable to know what else to say.

Jon grinned, his eyes twinkling. "First lesson of sword fighting:"

Arya grinned. "Stick 'em with the pointy end!" They both said at the same time, grinning.

Arya wrapped the sword belt around her waist, buckling it tightly at the front. When she looked up, Jon's expression was sober again, and the smile fell from her face a little.

Jon wrapped her in another hug, but quickly let go. "I'll miss you, little sister," he said quietly.

Arya closed her eyes, already regretting the words she was about to say. "Are you sure there is no way that I don't have to wed?" She asked desperately, the dread kicking in once again.

Jon's face fell. "There's no way," he said. "I'm sorry."

Arya watched him carefully. "You know that I won't ever stop trying to run away," she stated.

Jon didn't smile, and neither did she. "I know. I wish you would though. I hate to say it, but you'll never get away from him, and even if you did, I would hunt you down myself." Still, he did not smile.

Arya frowned. There was no point fighting him now. She would just have to escape later. When everyone was asleep. She had it planned already... "I know." She said.

Jon cleared his throat again, and stepped back. "We'd better get you mounted up, he'll be wondering where you've gone," he half joked, but neither of them laughed.

It was a bright day outside, sunny, but as cold as always. Horses trotted around the yard while riders struggled to find where they were supposed to be. Arya saw Gendry straight away, by his enormous black stallion. She saw Astrid tacked up already beside him. With a scowl Arya noticed it was a side saddle; she hated side saddle. She hoped that her normal saddle was there somewhere, in one of the many wagons and carts she could see outside the gates; she couldn't very well escape if she had to ride in a stupid side saddle. If her saddle wasn't there, she would hang it all and go bareback.

Gendry looked up and saw them walking towards him. He grinned and walked over, his huge strides reaching them quickly. "The men are all ready, so whenever you are," he said to them both. His eyes paused on Arya, his dark brow creased in confusion. "Why are you wearing a dress?" Arya stared at him coldly, and, hiking her skirts up above her knee, strode over to Astrid and mounted up. The saddle was odd to sit in, but not uncomfortable. Still, Arya would have preferred her own clothes and saddle. The stupid dress was already caught around her legs. She saw Jon and Gendry exchange a few words, and then shake hands, before Gendry joined her, swinging up onto his horse. Arya noticed with irritation that she was lower down than him.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked. Arya ignored him. He sighed. "I'll take that as a yes, then." He turned about, and raised his sword up high. The crowd fell silent. "Men!" He shouted, his voice like thunder. "Let's away for the Stormlands!" There was a cheer, and with a final look at Arya, Gendry urged his horse on to a canter, Arya followed swiftly on Astrid, feeling ungainly in the saddle.

She allowed Astrid her head, and the mare moved fluidly beneath her, her muscles bunching and relaxing with want to go faster and faster. Without realizing it, Arya had soon caught up side by side with Gendry, despite her mount being smaller. Gendry shot her a smile.

"I thought ladies were supposed to ride in Wheelhouses?" He taunted, sitting tall and strong in the saddle.

Arya snorted. "I'm not a Lady," she said. Arya hated wheelhouses; why anyone would want to sit in a stuffy wheelhouse when they could be outside riding was beyond her.

Gendry smirked at her. "Nae, you're not, but you'll soon be My lady," he said smugly.

Arya shot him a scowl. "Not if I can help it," She snapped, allowing Astrid to go faster, rising to be a pace ahead of Gendry's stallion, which snorted in discontent, and moved forward.

Gendry seemed unperturbed by her comment. "Like I said, you'll come round. You trusted me before, why not again?"

Arya scowled at him. "And like I said, things are different now. I trust you, but I won't ever marry you. I do not intend to marry anyone. The second I get away from you, I won't ever even entertain the idea of it."

Instead of the response she had hoped for, Gendry let out a booming laugh, making Arya frown. The Gendry she had known was far more sullen. "What makes you think you'll ever get away from me in the first place?"

"Believe me, Gendry," Arya said cuttingly, "if I wanted to get away, neither you nor your whole host of knights could stop me."

Gendry regarded her, one of his thick black brows arched. "Oh? So you don't to get away just now then?"

Arya clenched her jaw. "Of course I do; I'm just biding my time. I'm just saying that if I really tried to, I could escape and you wouldn't even know until I was gone."

Gendry snorted as they passed a large boulder. "Yeah, well it seemed to me that you tried pretty hard last night, and how did that work out for you?" Arya hissed, and exhaled sharply. "And what of before that? Your brother got you home easy enough too. Looks to me like either you couldn't get away if your life depended on it or you don't really want to get away at all." He said smugly.

Arya bristled; he wasn't wrong. Without killing or using her faces, Arya was unable to get away. She could sneak all she liked, but with several hundred men all watching her to make sure she didn't... Arya didn't like her odds. "I didn't really have a fair chance though, did I?" She bit out. "The first time it was without warning and I had an unfit cart horse, and the second time I was on foot while you had a huge war horse."

Gendry looked her straight in the eye, his expression sober. Arya noticed that he had a five o'clock shadow on his jaw, and his hair hung in his eyes a little. "I don't plan on giving you a fair chance either," he said. "I will play dirty if I have to, and break all the rules, whatever it takes to win you."

The words sent a hot chill down Arya's spine, and something warm flooded her stomach, but she ignored it. "I'm not some object to be won!" She snapped. "You and Jon made some stupid agreement between yourselves, and now you just expect me to let you go along with it? Because I'm not going to!"

Gendry continued to look unbothered. "I know you won't, Arya Stark, and that's exactly why it's you that I want."

Arya snapped her eyes forwards, unable to think what to say. Before, when she hadn't known it was Gendry she had been betrothed to, and Jon had said that the Lord had wanted her for her, Arya had assumed he was lying to win her over; why not a girl like Sansa? Someone who was beautiful and gentle and submissive? Because Arya knew that she was none of those things, and while the fact didn't bother her, she knew that it bothered others. Arya was not as elegant as Sansa- oh, she could be very graceful when she wanted to be, but only in sword play due to her training. Arya knew that she was odd looking too; this was the first time that she had worn a dress in many years, and boys clothes were always either baggy around her waist and tight on the chest and hips, or they were all too baggy and far too long. Until Sansa had tidied up her hair it had been uneven and ragged, and beneath her clothes her whole body was a wild array of scars. She wasn't tall and while she was curvy she wasn't as voluptuous as Sansa, and even further she was skinny and small.

But then, she supposed, Gendry had seen her at her worst. He had seen her as a lice ridden, lumpy haired, skinny child, with bare feet and grubby skin. He had seen her eating worms to survive, hells he had even seen her make water before! Gendry didn't seem to care back then, why would he now? Arya thought on what he had said about them being partners before. She remembered how she hadn't trusted him at first, and when he had found out she was a girl she had even considered killing him. But over a short period of time... Gendry had become more than a partner, and the only person she had left.

She still couldn't quite believe he was even here. Arya sneakily glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He had tanned skin, and strong features- he looked so different, and yet, so very Gendry. Just an older version of the boy she had known. Although he rode a lot better now; Arya stifled a smile as she remembered the first time he had ever even ridden a horse. He rode tall and proud now, like he belonged there, and Arya even felt slightly insignificant next to him.

The night before, before he had captured her, and Arya had been watching him from the trees, he had looked like he belonged in one of the songs that Sansa so loved. Huge and handsome, and everything a man should be. She remembered how he felt afterwards, when she had leaned into him for warmth after falling in the water; he had been warm, and strong, his body made of pure muscle, that rippled when he moved. She had felt encased by him, in the way that his thighs had pushed against hers from the sides, how his arms had wrapped around her to hold the reins and keep her in place, how his chin had still been far above the top of her head. It had felt familiar at the time, though she couldn't place why; now she could. She used to double up with Gendry exactly like that when they were with the Brotherhood. At first they would swap around, one day Arya at the front steering, with Gendry holding on, and the next Gendry in front with Arya sat behind; in the end they had decided that it was easier for her sit in front, as he was so big that she couldn't see anything in front.

It would be the same now, she thought. Arya had met many large people in her life, but Gendry came close to trumping them all. Robert had been tall, but Gendry was taller, and far stronger than the king she had known was. Though, he hadn't always been fat, she thought. Her father had often recounted how he had been enormous and strong enough to wield a war hammer in each hand. Arya wondered which Gendry preferred to fight with. He had a sword at his hip now, but that could mean anything. After all, Arya had met many Lords that carried swords without any skill for using them. Though if Arya remembered, Gendry had fought his fair few men when Amory Lorch attacked the camp, and Jon had said that he was one of his best men.

To be honest, Arya had conflicted emotions about seeing him again. She would have been happy enough just knowing that he was alive and well, but seeing him... brought back too many memories, memories that she had suppressed long ago. When Arya was in Braavos, she had tried to throw away every part of herself to become one of the Faceless Guild, and that had included leaving behind her memories and feelings about her life. Even after she had left Braavos, thinking back on them just hurt too much, distracted her from what she needed to do to survive, so Arya had locked them away, deep inside of her.

Being at Winterfell brought back memories of her childhood, and her dead family. Jon and Sansa reminded her of life before... but in a good way, even if it was sometimes difficult. But Gendry... Gendry was from a time in her life that had been dark and full of fear. Seeing him reminded her of those times, of Harrenhal, of running in fear, the Brotherhood, him abandoning her- but he wasn't the bad memories, he was just a part of them. The good part of them. Gendry had been almost like a substitute for a brother, a light in the dark- even if he had been a surly, sullen bull headed boy.

* * *

Gendry was aware of Arya watching him from the corner of her eye, appearing to be thoroughly appraising him. Gendry had hoped that once she recognised him she might receive their betrothal with more warmth, and had been disappointed by her response. He couldn't understand why she was so adverse to marriage to him; it wasn't like he was still some bastard boy. He had worked hard to get to where he was, and as a Lord, no one could deny that he was good enough for her now, he thought smugly. The Stormlands were rich and strong, the lands vast; Arya couldn't marry higher unless she wed Jon or Aegon! But then, he supposed, that kind of thing mattered little to someone who did not wish to be wed at all.

When he had first caught sight of her, sat on her arse in the marsh, moonlight dancing across her features, bathing her in silver, Gendry had felt his breath stick in his throat. She had looked so... otherworldly in that moment. Like some kind of mystical creature, small and flighty, her hair wet, and sticking to her alluringly, her clothes clinging to her body, water rivulets running down her skin and glistening in the light of the moon; if it weren't for her murderous expression Gendry would have thought her some kind of nymph, or even some relation to the Children of the Forrest. But surely, no child of the forest, peaceful creatures that they were, would ever bear such a furious expression as she did in that moment. Gendry had practically been able to see the snarl on her face.

He had been surprised that she had gotten so far undetected, especially with so many guards swarming the place, but he was even more surprised that he had managed to catch her in time. When they were children, running from Harrenhal, Arya had always had a good head for evasion, but this... this was something else entirely. Like it was a natural instinct for her. He had been lucky to find her in truth; if Nymeria had not been lurking in the trees and have caught her scent, leading Gendry to her, he doubted he would ever have found her. At first he had thought the huge wolf was Ghost, perhaps Jon warging into him, but Ghost was pure white, not grey, and this wolf was more savage looking... it could only be Nymeria. Watching Arya now, looking furious in her pretty dress, Gendry wondered exactly why Nymeria had led him to her; perhaps even the wolf knew what was best for her mistress, he thought smugly. Even She wolves needed He wolves, and Gendry was going to prove that.

When she had entered the yard that morning Gendry had been shocked to see her in the dress. She had looked stunning. Perhaps not in the sensual, feminine way that most girls looked, but in a different way, something that Gendry couldn't quite find the words for. While he thought her beautiful in her normal clothes, it was beyond him why she chose to wear them when she looked so stunning in a dress. Not that Gendry objected to her normal boys clothes; he thought she looked stunning in them, if a little odd. Perhaps he would gift her some proper ones when they got home, made to fit her, rather than the ill fitting boys ones. Britches with more movement in the hips and shirts with a slimmer waist and larger chest. Things that wouldn't hinder her movement.

Gendry couldn't wait to show her Storm's End, and show her what he had risen to be since their days with the Brotherhood. No longer was he Gendry the Blacksmiths apprentice, nor Gendry captive at Harrenhal, or even Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. He was Lord Baratheon of Storms End, one of the Kings most trusted Lords. He would show her that he was worthy of her, whether she liked it or not.


	14. Down This Winding Road

**DISCLAIMER: Still own nothing :)**

 **Ok readers, again I apologise for a bit of an annoying interlude, I just needed to know what was going on and whether everyone hated it- and I'm really glad to say that thanks to some really lifting reviews and pm's, I will be carrying on with the story! I would like to say a special thanks to some of my reviewers- I'm really glad that you are enjoying the story so far, and I'm grateful for your words of encouragement and kindness! I know that it probably seemed silly of me to get het up over one nasty person, and you are right, but it just struck me that perhaps others agreed! Really glad to see that isn't the case :) To answer a couple of questions: Arya is not just going to fall for Gendry through Stockholm's syndrome and become a demure little wife- that would go against the story completely, so don't worry about that! Next, there will be more Bran later on- his role will be key as the plot thickens! Mwahaha! Thirdly, Aegon and Dany will also have larger roles later on, so we'll get to see a bit of Jon x Dany in there as well, and lastly, Jon will later face up to his actions and redeem himself- there will be more behind his reasons to wed Arya to Gendry that hopefully we can forgive him! Yay! I love Jon too much to make him the bad guy- or not too bad anyway! I'll stop rambling on now, and get on with writing the story! I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, and for those with questions or advice, you know the drill- review away or drop me a pm! Just a reminder though- I genuinely enjoy advice and constructive criticism, they help out a lot, but please be nice; like Frank Turners new album! I think we've all seen how scared I get when I'm told to basically crawl in a hole and die! Anyway, enjoy this chapter, the next one will be posted soon, just as soon as I have written it, and away we go! Over and Out xoxox**

Arya groaned in relief as she slid out of the saddle and onto solid ground; every part of her was aching. She had long ago discarded the silly heels that Sansa had put her in, kicking them off in frustration to the amusement of Gendry and several other men behind her. The dress, however, was not so easy to discard, and the tight bodice made the riding difficult, restrictive as it was; Arya was beginning to understand why many ladies preferred the wheelhouse now.

The grass was crisp with frost underneath the bare soles of her feet, but Arya didn't mind- she liked the sensation, as it reminded her of when she was a child and would run and play with her brothers. Her new sword swung at her hip, and Arya found herself resting her hand on the pommel, but while she felt a thrilling tingle down her spine at the idea of using it, it lacked the comfort of holding Needle.

All around her the Baratheon host had already begun to set up camp; Arya was thankful of the fact that Gendry at least seemed to prefer to travel as light as possible- there were no tents as such being set up, rather just lean to's against the tree's that surrounded the border of Castle Cerwyn, near the Kings Road that the host had come along. Men were already heading into the trees to find wood for fires, and squires dashed around trying to find places for the horses. Despite the scramble, the host was clearly well practiced in the routine, and Arya felt entirely out of place among them.

Unsure exactly what to do or where to go, Arya led Astrid over to a row of buckets filled with water, and stroked the mares neck while she drank. The water looked clean enough, so she untied her skin from the saddle and was just uncorking it in order to fill it up, when a voice behind her caused her to freeze.

"There is a river just down the way, if you'd prefer Milady," the person said, "'tis better than this stuff."

Arya swallowed, and turned around, her face guarded. Lem Lemon Cloak stood behind her, smiling toothily at her from behind his bushy beard. Although his face had more lines around the eyes and corners of the mouth, and his cloak was cleaner than last she had seen him, he hadn't changed at all.

"I'm not a lady," she said coldly, looking him in the eye. She hadn't forgotten that he had been a part of the Brotherhood, that he had played a part in her capture and being held hostage by them. Sure, it had been Beric and Thoros that had debated ransoming her, but what had Lem done to help her? What had any of them done?

Lem blinked at her and then threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and deep. Arya did not smile. "Aye, I can see that, little lady, you never were no proper little highborn lass."

Arya clenched her hand more tightly around her sword when there was another voice from her side, and Arya turned her head to see another ghost from her past walk over to Lem, a grin spread across his face. He wasn't the youth she remembered, and he had filled out a bit, but the freckles and red hair were the same. Anguy grinned even wider as he regarded her.

"So the Little Wolf is back," he said, his accent still as thick as before. "Haven't changed much, I see?"

Arya gave him the same chilling look she had Lem. "I see you have," she replied, gesturing to the finer clothes he now wore.

"Aye, well, happens that being an acknowledged Knight is far better than an _un_ acknowledged one," he said cockily.

"Anguy the Knight," Arya said sarcastically, "who would have thought?"

Anguy did a small bow. "That's Ser Anguy to you, little lady," he said, "the best archer in all of Westeros."

"Oi, don't be getting cocky, lad, I could still knock you on your arse before you even had time to knock your bow," called another voice from behind. Arya pressed her lips together; so Gendry had kept with the entire Brotherhood.

She didn't bother turning around to see who it was, for Tom O'Seven's voice was as distinctive now as it had ever been. Sure enough, the brown haired man soon came into view, carrying what Arya was certain to be the same woodharp he had owned several years prior.

He smirked at Anguy, and then turned to Arya. "It's good to see you, Princess," he said warmly, bowing his head.

"I'm no Princess," Arya warned, and the three men that regarded her shook their heads.

"Your brother is a King," said Anguy, scratching his chin, "and so was your other brother. Your cousin-come-brother is going to marry a queen, and their only heirs are you and your siblings- if you ain't a princess, what are you?"

Arya clenched her jaw. "That doesn't make me a princess, that makes me a Lady," she snapped, fed up with the older men's antics. Lem smirked, and before he could tease her Arya cut across, "even if I myself am not."

Anguy snorted. "Well, that makes perfect sense, now, doesn't it?" He only just seemed to notice Astrid, having long finished her drink. "Give your horse to a Squire, he'll take care of it." He gestured behind Arya, to someone she assumed to be a squire.

Arya huffed, and protested, "I can take care of her on my own," she snapped, as the squire moved to take her reins.

"Aye, I'm sure you can," Tom said, nodding at the Squire, "but Lord Baratheon should like to see you, and I doubt he much wants a nag there with you."

Arya exhaled shortly through her nose, and grit her teeth together. "Well, I don't much want to see him," she said, "so you can go tell him yourself that just because he and my brother have an agreement, doesn't mean that I want any part of it. And if he wants to see me, he can bloody well find me himself!" And with that Arya strode off away from the men, who were gaping at her retreating back.

Arya marched her way through the camp, ignoring the many stares sent her way. The evening was beginning to set into dusk, and the temperature of the air was slowly dropping, leaving Arya cold in the dress and bare feet. The grass was wet, and patchy, but Arya barely noticed as she muttered beneath her breath how stupid Gendry was. Ordering her to come to him, like she was some damned dog- Arya was a Wolf, not some obedient pup!

Seeing the three men from the Brotherhood had shaken her more than she cared to admit to herself; like everything and everyone in her life at the moment, Arya found herself conflicted. While they had held her hostage, and had planned to ransom her out, it had been war. They needed the gold, and she had been the best way for them to get it. Besides, it wasn't like they had wanted to sell her to the Lannisters- that had just been a long term back up plan. They had always treated her with respect; Anguy even taught her archery for a time.

Realistically, Arya knew her anger at them was unfair, but still; who of them had stood against the suggestion she be sold? They had lied to her, cheated her, and a small, unacknowledged part of her was angry at them purely because Gendry had chosen them over her.

After some time Arya came across a wagon, where there were few people, that she had seen outside of Winterfell's gates- perhaps it contained her things? Arya was up to steal any clothes she could, so long as they didn't have a bloody skirt on them. Arya wanted to throw the stupid dress in the mud... but it still smelt a little like Sansa, and just a little bit like her mother once had.

Arya climbed up into a likely looking wagon, covered with a beige material to give it a flimsy roof, supported by rounded rods of bendy wood. Standing on the steps, Arya began to rifle through the chests and trunks, trying to find the blue one that Sansa had described. The trunks were heavy, and the wagon so full that it was difficult to shift them around properly, and Arya found herself becoming increasingly frustrated by the task.

"Fuck!" She cursed as one toppled over, spilling the contents. Arya was just shoving the fabrics back in haphazardly when someone cleared their throat behind her.

Arya sighed impatiently; couldn't they see that it had been an accident? "I know, I know, I'm putting it back," she snapped, "I'm just looking for something."

"Perhaps I could help you look?" The person said, their voice deep and inherently masculine. Arya concealed a groan, and allowed her eyes to shut close for a few seconds in irritation. Of course it was him.

"I can do it myself!" She snapped, as she struggled to lift a chest. Arya was about to curse in annoyance when a strong arm reached from behind her, the hand grasping the chests edge, and lifting it with ease.

Arya narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. She leaned forward, and was relieved to see that the blue trunk was underneath. While Gendry patiently held the chest in position from behind, Arya cracked open the blue one, and grabbed what she needed before climbing down the steps. Gendry let go of the chest and turned around to face her, only to see her back to him, while she wriggled the tan britches underneath her dress.

Arya ignored him as she did so, unconcerned by his presence. Absently she noticed that he turned around once he saw what she was doing, red faced. Arya sniggered silently; he hadn't changed that much, then. She didn't see what his problem was; they had seen each other naked many times. But then again, they had been children then, and anyway, she wasn't sure she really wanted anyone to see her scars. They would raise too many questions, ones that Arya did not want to answer. With that in mind, despite the area being almost empty, Arya was careful getting changed- until she reached an obstacle that made her groan in frustration.

The back of the dress was made up with series of tiny buttons and laces that Sansa had done up from behind; Arya was unable to undo them on her own, and cursed. She would rip the infernal thing off if she had to.

"Is everything alright?" Gendry asked, clearly amused by her mounting frustration with the dress.

"Yes!" Arya snapped, as she struggled to pull at the ties. A few moments later, Gendry spoke again.

"It doesn't _sound_ like everything is alright," he said stubbornly.

Arya huffed. "I can't get these stupid, bloody ties undone!" She snarled, kicking at a large stone.

"Here, turn around," Gendry said bluntly, turning around himself. Arya was going to protest, but what with the stubborn expression he wore, and her inability to get the dress off, Arya complied, turning around stiffly.

She could feel Gendry's fingers gently plucking at the multiple buttons and laces, feeling hot despite the cold temperature. Each time his fingers brushed against her exposed skin Arya felt a rush of something warm in her belly, and a shiver down her spine.

"Why do you tremble, Arya?" Gendry asked quietly from behind her.

Arya felt her cheeks heat up, and she bit her lip. "Tis the cold," she answered tersely. Gendry did not reply, but continued to pull at the laces in silence. Once he had done he stepped away, and Arya pulled it off of her arms and used her chin to hold the front up while she put on her shirt. Once she was decent she let the dress drop to the ground, while she pulled on her boots and a dark leather jerkin. She decided to let the braids stay, on account that they kept the hair from her face.

Once she had finished she scooped up the slightly muddy dress and slung it in the direction of the blue case, before making to walk off. Before she could, Gendry caught her arm just above the elbow.

"I think we need to talk, Arya," he said, his voice low.

Arya bit her lip. She didn't really want to talk to him... but perhaps it would be wise. She might be able to convince him to break off their betrothal. "Yes," she said stiffly. "I think we do."

Gendry nodded and let go of her arm, before leading her into the trees. Arya hesitated, and then followed him, grateful that she now had her boots and jerkin. Gendry did not go far into the woods, stopping after only five minutes walking; there was a fallen tree, covered with moss on one side, and Gendry sat down there, watching her.

Arya paused again, before sitting down a little way from him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither thinking of something to say. Arya could hear the sounds of the camp from the direction they had come.

Gendry was the one to break the silence. "Arya, I have not been entirely truthful with you," he stated bluntly.

Arya narrowed her eyes. What now? Had Jon kept still more from her? "What?" She asked, her hand going to her sword.

Gendry scrubbed at his face with his hand, rubbing at the stubble that had begun to grace his jaw. "It's about Jon. Or rather, why Jon was so eager for this marriage." He sounded tired, like he didn't truly want to discuss whatever he was talking about.

Arya rolled her eyes. "I already know. To prevent a rebellion. Some people would seat you on the Iron Throne, and the Ironborn could take advantage of that. Jon told me all of this."

Gendry shook his head, not looking at her. He sighed deeply, and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "Well, yes... but that's not really his main reason." He seemed to pause, as if to give himself time to chose his next words. "He doesn't want me to tell you this, exactly."

Arya blinked. "Then why are you?" She asked suspiciously. Was this just some plot of Jon's- to have her think he was innocent after all? To make her think that the marriage was her best option? Arya knew that deep down she couldn't ever hate him... but after how he had treated her? She wasn't sure if she could trust him again.

"Because I don't want you to hate Jon," Gendry said bluntly. Arya raised an eyebrow, and Gendry took a deep breath. "While what you said is true, there is more to it. You have to understand that Jon is one of my closest friends; he might be my King, but he was my friend first. And watching you be angry at him-"

"Of course I'm angry at him!" Arya snapped, standing up, her fists balled. "He sold me! To you!" She spat. Gendry stood up at her words, his brow darkened, towering over her, but Arya just glared straight back up at him.

"Aye, and he did it for your own good!" He said loudly. Arya ground her teeth together as he continued. "He betrothed us to protect you!" Arya blinked, confused by what Gendry was saying. Gendry closed his eyes and exhaled, before carrying on. "Jon knew the rumours; he has people all over Westeros that are loyal to him, men who tell him of unsettling speakings. When news of your home coming spread, everyone was talking about it, about you... one of these people was your betrothed."

Arya didn't understand him- he was her betrothed. "I don't have any previous betrothals," she said slowly.

Gendry pursed his lips. "Jon said you wouldn't know. During the war, when your brother, Robb, was King in the North, he agreed to a betrothal between you and a Lords son. That Lord was Walder Frey." He watched her closely for a reaction, but Arya didn't express one.

Walder Frey? He was dead- Arya knew that he was dead because she had killed him. She had waited for years to get her revenge, and she had. So why did any of this matter? It hurt to hear that Robb had betrothed her like that, without her consent, to a disgusting family. It was hard to distinguish Robb her brother from Robb the King; she hadn't ever even seen him during the time he was king. She didn't know what he was like as King, but the fact that he had agreed to dell her to a Frey to his own advantage, while she was a child... Arya wasn't sure she wanted to know. Was it even fair to blame him for it? She hadn't even known she had been betrothed, let alone why he had done it. Arya's head ached, but she cleared her thoughts away, finding it too painful to consider her perfect older brother had perhaps not been so perfect after all.

"He's dead," Arya said, "And his sons, someone killed them all years ago. Why does it matter, why does ANY of this matter?"

Gendry seemed to heavily debate his answer. "Yes, someone did- but not all of them. Some of his sons weren't present, one being your intended, who also happens to be the heir of Walder Frey. Elmar Frey."

Arya narrowed her eyes; why did she recognise that name? She could see where this was going, but that didn't explain why Jon didn't want her to know, and why Gendry was so conflicted about telling her. "My uncle Edmure is Lord of the Riverlands, and one day his son will be Lord of the Twins. Elmar has no power."

Gendry shook his head. "While that may be true, there are those that support Elmar's claim over your young cousin. And when Elmar heard that you were still alive, he began to spread the word of your betrothal."

Arya shook her head stiffly. "I don't understand why any of this is important," she said. "Who cares if he says we were betrothed? Jon could have just broken it off, not engage me to you instead."

Gendry's face soured at her words, but he clenched his jaw and continued. "Look, your betrothal to Elmar was done in sight of many respected Lords, and agreed in the name of the Gods. If enough people heard about it, and Jon broke of the engagement, many would not be happy. Who is to say that people who would profit from the union wouldn't rebel against the throne? Hells," Gendry carried on, now that he was on a role, "There are people who believe you ought to be punished for Ramsey Boltons crimes, seeing as you were supposed to be his wife!"

Arya flew her hands up. "But I never even met Ramsey Bolton!"

"That doesn't matter!" Gendry said loudly, exasperated. "If enough people begin to believe it than you could still end up harmed, and because of how confused your name has become, Jon thought it best to give you a clean slate as Lady of a prominent house- one that is far away from the Freys and the Northerners who want you punished! Like it or not, Arya, you are a princess- people who don't like Targaryen rule will seek to harm you; same with Sansa, seeing as she wed Tyrion Lannister!" Gendry finished, his words ringing loud in the silence that followed.

Arya's head was spinning. Jon wasn't just doing it for political alliance? He did it to protect her? Suddenly Arya remembered the watchmen that Jon had tried to send out after her, when she first came home, insisting that there were people that wanted her hurt. Arya didn't understand, why hadn't he told her any of this himself? She wouldn't have fought him so hard if she had known. She still wouldn't have wanted to marry, but she wouldn't have run away if she had known why.

"Why didn't Jon tell me any of this?" She asked, her dark eyebrows drawn together.

Gendry swallowed. "He didn't want you to think badly of Robb," he said, more quietly. "He didn't want to ruin your memory of him, so he let you think that he did it for himself rather than destroy your image of Robb."

Arya sucked in a breath of air, her head reeling wildly. He had let her think all of it was his fault to save Robbs image? Arya suddenly felt a surge of guilt in her stomach. This whole time she had been furious at Jon, and he'd been trying to make things easier for her? It didn't excuse him knocking her out or locking her up... but Arya could understand why he had done it.

In addition to the guilt Arya felt a sudden surge of anger, at Jon, at Robb, at herself. Everything was just so... so... fucked up! Arya clenched her hand around the sword that Jon had given her, wishing that there was someone she could use it on, someone she could kill. Arya could be patient; she had waited years and years to get her revenge on people who had wronged her. But this anger... Arya needed to take action.

"I'm riding back to Winterfell," she said, beginning to stride off into the trees towards the camp.

She had barely even gotten three paces away when Gendry caught her arm. Arya spun around, a snarl on her lips, ready to tell him to _let go_ , when he spoke. "No, you're not," he said, his voice firm. He had that stubborn look on his face that meant he would not change his mind.

" _Yes_ ," Arya said, tugging at her arm, "I _am_!"

Gendry growled, refusing to let go. "No, you're not. Don't be stupid, Arya, It's nearly night time, your horse is tired, and I just told you- there are people all over the place that want to harm you." He tugged her closer when she snarled at him. "I am not- will not- let you go back alone."

Arya let out a shout of frustration, and grasped at her sword, but the second that her hand was on the pommel, Gendry's own, much larger hand, crashed on top of hers, covering it, but not preventing her from pulling the blade.

"Gendry, I have to see him," Arya said as calmly as she could.

He pressed his lips together, his face hard, and Arya could see that she wouldn't be changing his mind. "Arya, look- we are still betrothed," Arya made to yank out her sword, but Gendry gripped her hand, "-but I won't force you to wed me. I'm not going to keep you all tied up, or drag you in chains down the wedding aisle, but if you want to protect your brother, your sister, and yourself, you will at least come with me South."

Arya stopped struggling in his hold, her grey eyes wide. She didn't have to marry him? Arya relaxed her grip on the sword. "I don't have to marry you?" She asked quickly, wanting to know his words were true.

He seemed prepared for her response, but her words left a trace of hurt across his face. "I won't force you to, no," he said, before placing two fingers under her chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze, "But I will do everything in my power to convince you."

Arya felt heat spread through her belly at his words, as she stared into his eyes, eyes the colour of blue ice. Perhaps... perhaps she could trust him like she once did. She was sure that she would never marry him- now that she had a choice- but maybe they could be friends, like they once were. Partners even.

The idea that she might have a partner again, someone to rely on... Arya hadn't had someone to watch her back in a long time. She supposed that wasn't entirely true- Jon clearly did, even if she didn't know it. But aside from Jon, the last person that had really cared for her had been Gendry. Sure, the Hound had kept her alive, and there had been a mutual understanding between the two, but never absolute trust. She had trusted the Hound not to kill her or let anyone else kill her, but only because he wanted her golds worth. He hadn't even needed to trust her; what could a twelve year old girl do against one of the best swordsmen in the Kingdoms?

But Gendry had been with her from the moment she joined the Nightswatch men to be. Maybe not at first, but slowly they had come to trust each other. Gendry had been protecting her since the beginning; when Hot Pie and Lommy tried to take Needle, when she had been tired and needed a hand with her chores, when he saw her being threatened by Rorge. He had stood with her when Amory Lorch attacked, kept the secret of her being a girl, and kept by her side at Harrenhal. Stayed with her when the Brotherhood took her hostage, even if it was only her that they wanted and he could have left.

Gendry had been her only source of absolute trust for those two years... until he had left her to become a Knight of the Hollow Hill. But perhaps... Arya could trust him again, with time.

Arya lifted her eyes and met his, which were staring at hers with an intensity that Arya had seen in few people, and made her heart flutter just a tiny bit. "Do your best, Gendry Baratheon," she said, "for I shall be trying just as hard to win."

* * *

Jon still stood watching the host ride away from the battlements when the rest of the crowds had long dissipated. Guilt gnawed at his stomach, but he tried to ignore it. He was doing it for her. She could hate him, and be angry at him all she liked, so long as she was safe.

Elmar Frey had been stewing at the Fingers for a long time, blaming the Starks for his family's murder, spreading malcontent, but once Arya had come home, and word had spread... Elmar had used it to his advantage. Technically the betrothal was called off, after Robb had broken faith and married Jeyne Westerling, but Elmar had played on the fact it was agreed in front of Gods and men. The young man might not be famous yet, but word would spread quickly... the sooner that Arya was far away the better.

Jon strode along the top of the battlements, watching as the last of the Baratheon host disappeared over the hill. The wind whistled a mournful tune around him, and Jon wondered if sending her away had been the right thing. She would be safer there, no doubt about it, especially if what Grisser had said was true and the Wildlings would somehow breach the Wall, but Jon knew that he had given her no choice in the matter.

It wouldn't be the first time that Jon Snow had been forced to make a difficult decision, but to do so knowing that Arya would never forgive him for it had made it all the harder. Thinking back on it now, Jon was sure that there must have been another way, even if he couldn't think of one. And the way he had locked her up, and knocked her out... Jon was certain that she would hate him for it. He almost hated himself for it.

But when she had run away the first time- Jon had been angry at her stubbornness, but worried more so. She didn't understand how many people were out to get her, no matter what their reasons were. People supported Elmar Frey- some because he wanted Targaryen rule overthrown, others because he promised riches that he did not have. Either way- there were people who would see her hurt out there. Arya could handle herself when she wanted to actually kill, that was for certain, but what if she was ambushed? Jon didn't even like her to go too far away when she was hunting.

He had been surprised by her farewell; he had expected shouting, fighting, anything but a hug. He hadn't been sure whether giving her the sword was a good idea at the time; admittedly a part of him knew that he gave it to her in apology for what he had done. But the Kings Road would take them through dangerous territory, and he couldn't leave her defenseless. He had no doubt that she would take to the sword like a bird to the sky, and he hoped that it would keep her safe in times to come- though with good fortune, she would not need it.

Jon made his way down to the yard, now back to the busy hustle and bustle of the household. Really he ought to go to the maester, review the books and such for the last couple of weeks, but there was a place that Jon needed to go first.

The Godswood was an eerie place, silent and still, but there was an inherent wildness about the place, that Jon could never put his finger on. The ground was covered by a thousand years worth of humus, making Jon's footfalls silent, and the whole place had a primal cast about it. Jon remembered how Eddard Stark used to sit beneath the Heart Tree, and look out across the small, cold pond. That was where Jon was headed.

But when he arrived there, he was not alone.

Bran sat in his wheelchair, looking out across the water, as still as stone. He was so different now; the boy that Jon had known was always so full of energy, of movement, never content to be still and silent. Bran did not move as Jon approached and stood beside him.

Some minutes later Bran was the one to break the silence. "She'll forgive you, you know," he said quietly, though his voice seemed loud in the otherwise silent wood.

"How can you know that?" Jon asked bitterly.

"I know a lot of things now," Bran said, as if that explained it all. Jon hated it when he did that; he knew that bran didn't do it on purpose, but the way he talked so omnisciently, giving only vague answers, as if everyone should understand exactly what he meant, irked Jon. He still didn't really understand what Bran meant by him being the Three Eyed Raven.

"Then you should know what Arya is like now," Jon said heavily. "She doesn't seem to forgive anything easily."

"I never said that it would be easy," Bran said carefully. "If you had suffered the things that Arya has suffered, then you would not be so quick to forgive either."

Jon moved around in front of Bran, and looked the younger man in the eyes. What sixteen year old had ever looked so weighed down? "You said that you can see everything?" Jon asked slowly.

Bran stared at him, his face a blank mask. "I see everything that has ever come to pass, and everything that is happening around us as we speak," he explained. "But it isn't so much that I see them... it's like they are memories."

"So... you can see- remember- what has happened to Arya?" Jon asked uncertainly. He couldn't comprehend what his younger brother was saying, but he thought that he had the idea of it.

Bran nodded solemnly. "I can," he said simply.

"Can you tell me?" Jon asked carefully, already sure of what the answer would be.

Bran shook his head. "The only person who can is Arya."

* * *

Arya looked up at the three remaining towers of Moat Cailin with a sense of foreboding. The crumbling stronghold was said to have had twenty towers in days of old, but most had fallen down, and the vast wooden keep had rotted away. The lands surrounding the stronghold were marshy and wet; Arya remembered one of Old Nan's stories, about how the Children of the Forest had used the Hammer of the Waters to try and separate the North and the South, but had failed, succeeding only in flooding the place.

But despite the fallen down towers and the rotted keep, the stronghold seemed a luxury after weeks on the road. Not that Arya was unused to travelling and sleeping rough, but all the same, the thought of a proper bed was welcoming, as well as eating something other than stringy stew, greasy rabbits and dry biscuits. Gendry had not been keen to stop, eager instead to get to Storm's End as quickly as possible, but the tiring horses and men, as well as having as hungry a belly as everyone else, convinced him to stop and rest there for a couple of days.

The host had been on the Kingsroad for nigh on two weeks, and Arya had spent most of it alone; Gendry often rode next to her, but neither of them spoke a great deal. Arya felt... well, she didn't quite know how she felt, especially now she knew Jon's main reason for the wedding. She had so many questions, all of them constantly rushing around her head. Was the only way to escape Elmar Frey to marry someone else? Did Gendry truly want to marry her, or just because he was helping Jon, or even because he wanted to get closer to the crown? Arya didn't think that was like Gendry. He had never shown any want for power before... but then, now that he had had his taste for power as Lord of Storm's End, who was to say that his ambition had not grown? Still, Arya doubted it. It just didn't seem... Gendry.

Arya watched him as he discussed something with Anguy. They looked to be arguing about something, and Gendry had that look on his face, the one that meant he would not change his mind. Arya wondered what they were fighting about. In truth, she didn't know anything about what Gendry thought. Since he had told her in the woods about Elmar Frey his expression had been guarded around her, but Arya thought she could see something in his eyes, something sad but also... determined. The look sent a thrill through her, and Arya didn't know why.

Unable to stomach the havoc that would soon be raging, as everyone tried to organize the camp, Arya clicked her tongue and rode away towards the trees, eager to explore. Doubtless Gendry would send men to keep an eye on her if he knew, but seeing as he looked busy arguing with Anguy, Arya doubted that he would even notice she had gone until it was too late.

The trees that grew in the marsh land mostly comprised of Willow, Birch and Cypress, the canopy denser and darker than Arya was accustomed to. Water dripped down from the leaves from the last shower, but Arya didn't mind. The ground was softer, and squashier too, the moss oozing with every step that the mare took. Eventually Arya came to a small clearing; the ground was a layer of debris and moss and wet leaves, with fern growing knee high around the edges. Patches of toadstools grew in clusters, and Arya thought that she could hear a stream somewhere nearby. She could faintly hear the sounds of camp from behind her, and wondered if anyone was looking for her; Arya rolled her eyes- when Gendry noticed he would have a heart attack. Not that Arya cared; it wasn't like she was far, no more than half a league. If he wanted her he would find her easily enough, her tracks obvious in the thick layer of moss.

She swung off of Astrid's back, and gave her a slappy pat before tying her to a tree. As she stroked the horses flank Arya wondered about Nymeria; the wolf had been AWOL for several days now, having slunk off somewhere that was away from the host. Arya had warged into her once, but she found it difficult when Nymeria was too far away, and had quickly given up on it. She would need to practice; she knew that Jon could slip in and out of Ghost's conscience easily, but he had not been apart from the wolf for as long as she had with Nymeria.

Arya walked to the middle of the clearing, where a single ray of light filtered weakly through the canopy of green leaves, casting a green glow. It looked funny on her skin as she held her hand out, and Arya smiled a little. Her mother had always loved green light; it reminded her of growing up at Riverrun, where there were soft summer showers and the light streamed through the leaves in the gardens.

As she shifted her leg, Arya felt the sword swing at her hip; she hadn't had a chance to properly admire it yet, and so, in the privacy of the woods, Arya grasped the pommel and pulled it from its scabbard. The Valyrian steel glinted in the weak light, and Arya turned it over, admiring it and the way the different layers seemed to ripple and melt into each other.

With a small smile Arya adopted her familiar fighting stance, her body turned sideways, knees slightly bent, shoulders straight. The blade was heavier to hold up than Needle, which Arya had attached to her saddle, having long ago found it in a wagon. The weight was unfamiliar and Arya frowned, unsure of the balance; she knew Needle off by heart, and she was determined to be the same with this sword.

Arya slowly began to run through the familiar movements of the Water Dance that Syrio Forel had taught her all those years ago. It was harder to do with Dark Sister, but it wasn't too difficult, and within minutes Arya was already more accustomed to the blade. Quickly, she became lost in the dance, soothed by the motions, and falling easily into the old pattern.

* * *

"I'm just saying, there aren't many girls who won't be more amicable after a good fuck," Anguy stated, holding up a hand in surrender.

Gendry grit his teeth. "I'm not just going to take her to bed and ruin her honour," he said tersely. This whole damned conversation had irritated him from the start, and Gendry was becoming increasingly frustrated with the archer.

"I'm not saying you have to take her honour," Anguy snorted, "but you were moping because the little she wolf hasn't fallen for you yet; many a lady say that they won't ever fall in love so easily, but once you take her to bed she don't need much more convincing."

Gendry exhaled out of his nose violently. Anguy never did take things seriously, and Gendry had to wonder if it had been wise to confide in his friend. Anguy wasn't wrong though; Gendry had been pretty stumped into how to approach his intended.

He still wasn't sure if telling her about Frey had been the best course of action; he had debated it over and over in his head- betray Jon's trust, or let Arya hate her brother? It was a difficult choice, but she seemed more at peace since knowing, rather than turning stony whenever the King was mentioned. Gendry just hadn't been able to let her hate Jon; she had already lost too many people in her life, and Gendry was sure that he didn't even know the half of it- to lose another over a lie was too much.

Gendry could understand Jon's reasoning; he didn't want to destroy Arya's memory of her older brother- her memory of Robb was all she had, and Gendry could see Jon's reluctance to take that away... but Robb was dead. He was gone, Arya had lost him already- why should she lose Jon as well? Besides, Gendry doubted that Arya would just suddenly hate Robb because of it, but she would hate Jon if he allowed the lie to continue.

He hadn't spoken to Arya since then; what could he say? Besides, he was busy with constantly being in charge of the host- Gendry almost missed being one of the men, having someone else tell him what to do. It seemed that every small thing needed his approval these days; the Brotherhood members were not so much of an issue, but the men he had inherited along with his name seemed unable to make any decisions for themselves. Gendry just hoped that things would be easier with time.

"I'm not going to take her to bed, like some whore, before we wed," Gendry said firmly. "Even if did try it, she would be as likely to hold a knife to my throat as welcome me- more likely, I'd say."

Anguy sighed and shrugged. "Well, I won't deny that's true," he said, "but if you don't assert yourself over her soon, you'll be running after her for the rest of your life."

Gendry didn't doubt that he would be doing just that anyway.

* * *

 **OK, well there's another chapter for you- I hope you liked the twist! Not a huge one, that's true, but it's there. I've been sitting on the idea for quite a while, but I wasn't sure how exactly to include it until recently! Once again, I would like to thank those who reviewed or messaged me, it has really helped! For the reviewers who are guests, I can't actually message you back, but I wish I could- so thank you to you as well, your PMs and reviews were all really helpful and I super appreciate it!**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, let me know your thoughts on it, as always, please feel free to ask any questions, and I will do my best to explain! Hoping you are all having a good holiday, Over and Out xox**


	15. To Warmer Waters

**DISCLAIMER: Seeing as the first book was published six years before my birth, it would be quite amazing if I had any claim on them- I don't. Nor the HBO series... *pulls hoodie strings tight and cries***

 **Alright, last chapter threw a bit of a curve ball there, I hope it was alright... I am aware that it is a little far fetched, but to explain, Jon is mostly worried about the people who don't support him flocking to Frey, who might use that to get to Arya; he is more worried about the attention it would draw, than Arya being actually harmed. Maybe I didn't say that very clearly? As always, I'm interested to hear what you think about it, but I won't be going back and changing it- though I'm always happy to add anything that you would like to see :) Also, Arya isn't going to just immediately forgive Jon- or Gendry for that matter- but she better understands Jon's reasoning. Hope that clears it up!**

 **To those who reviewed, thank you very much, super helpful to hear what you think- again, if could message back I have done so, but it doesn't seem to let me even for some of the named ones! For those of you I couldn't get back to, apologies, and thank you for reviewing! Anyway, on with the story! Over and Out! xox**

Arya turned slowly on the spot, her eyes closed and mind centered. The sword was a part of her arm, and her arm was made of steel. It could flow like water, soft and swift, and cut through flesh and bone like an axe. Quick as a snake, calm as still water. The Braavosi sword dance was not like the Westerosi hacking and sawing, it was swift... and _sudden_.

Arya flew around, bringing the sword down in a fast and sudden attack- but instead of cutting soundlessly through the air, the sword hit something strong and hard, with a resulting crash of steel on steel.

Arya opened her eyes in surprise to see Gendry standing behind her, his sword having met hers just before she cut him in half. Arya narrowed her eyes, and twisted her sword away in a split second, and before Gendry could so much as blink her sword tip was pointed at his throat. Gendry eyed the blade, and held up his hands in surrender, smiling softly. Arya kept her face blank and slowly lowered the sword.

"You aren't supposed to be out alone, girl," Gendry said with faint irritation. "When I looked to see where you were and you were gone, I thought something bad had happened."

Arya cocked an eyebrow. "Something bad as in I was hurt, or something bad as in I had escaped?" She asked shrewdly, watching him smirk in response and step closer.

"Whichever you prefer," Gendry said with a wry smile. "But I am serious- no more going off alone." His voice was firm and his face equally stern.

Arya huffed; stupid, bull-headed, bastard boy. "I can take care of myself," she snapped, fed up with constantly being watched. Whether they were riding or settling down for the night, Gendry was never far away, and if not him then Arya knew that he set up people to watch her. Commonly it was one of the old Brotherhood; Gendry had noticed her cold attitude towards them, and seemed to think that sending them over to annoy her would change that.

"Aye, I can see that," Gendry said, gesturing at the sword. "I was watching you from the trees. May I?" He looked pointedly at the blade, held loosely in her hand. When Arya didn't react, he reached down and lifted the tip of the sword up with two fingers. The first time he had done that had been after he had scared off Lommy and Hot Pie, and asked where she had stolen it from; Arya concealed a smile at the memory.

Gendry studied the sword with an expert eye, and with a questioning look, pulled it from her grip; he lifted it up to eye level and examined it, holding it level in both hands. Arya watched as he tossed it lightly, and then held it out straight in front of him, looking along the length of it, as she had seen him do before after forging a sword.

Gendry swished it a few times, flipping it over and turning his wrist, before looking up at Arya, who was watching him with inadvertent curiosity. He flipped it, catching the blade loosely in his hand, and offered the pommel to her. Arya took it, and let it hang gently in her grip, the tip just resting on the ground.

"Jon mentioned that he had a new sword for you, but I didn't know that he meant _that_ ," Gendry said disbelievingly. "Otherwise I would ask you where you nicked it from. That's an old sword, that is, and a good one at that."

Arya nodded, idly stroking the flat of the blade with her finger. "It was Visenya Targaryen's sword, Dark Sister. Jon's descended from Aegon the Conqueror and Rheanys, so Visenya was something like his... tenth great aunt? But Jon already has Longclaw, and Aegon has Blackfyre, so Jon gave me Dark Sister." Arya had always been intrigued by Visenya Targaryen; she and Rheanys were often over shadowed by their brother- husband- but they were both incredible too. It was said that Aegon had wed Visenya for duty and Rheanys for desire and love- Visenya was told to have been stern, serious and unforgiving, while her sister was kind and joyous and beautiful. Arya had always related to Visenya as a child.

Gendry nodded. "My cousin, Shireen, told me the histories. I was related to her too, distantly- Aegon had a bastard brother, who founded the House Baratheon, called Orys. Then a long time after, my great grandfather married Rhaelle."

Arya smiled softly; she remembered her father telling her all of the histories. When Arya didn't pay attention to Septa Mordane, her father took up teaching her the histories himself, telling them like stories rather than accounts. Sansa had adored the stories about Jonquil with flowers in her hair, but Arya had grown up on stories of dragons and battles and fighting.

"You practiced much with her yet?" Gendry asked, nodding at the sword.

Arya shook her head slightly. "That was the first time I've used her," she admitted with a small shrug. Gendry smiled, and unsheathed his own sword.

"Well, it's no Valyrian steel sword like yours," he said with a smile, "but d'you reckon it's good enough to practice with you?" He moved into his own fighting stance, with his feet square, both hands on the hilt of the sword.

Arya allowed herself to smile, before taking up the stance she always did before a fight; both hands and her sword pointed up, behind her back, and her feet shoulder width apart. Gendry cocked an eyebrow at her, but seemed to shrug it off. While he circled around her a little, Arya kept her eyes trained on him, ready for his attack at any sign of movement. It was harder to balance Dark Sister behind her back than it was Needle, being so much larger and heavier- but Arya had already noticed that it was still much smaller than Gendry's long sword, both thinner and just over half it's length- the average Longsword was just under four foot long, and Bastard swords about three and a bit long. Arya's sword was shorter still, longer than a Shortsword, but not so long as a Bastard blade. That meant that Gendry would easily have both reach and weight against her, but Arya was sure that her speed and agility would more than make up for it.

Gendry sensed that she would not make the first move, a tactic that Arya had discovered long ago, and made to attack, lunging forward and swiping his sword right handed, from left to right. Arya whipped her sword out using her left hand only, and met the steel midway, resulting in a loud clang of steel on steel. Gendry narrowed his eyes and retracted his blade again. Arya went back to her beginning position, sword behind her back, waiting for him to move.

This time Gendry made a straight thrust at her naval, but Arya turned sideways, still with her sword tucked behind her. Instead of fully retracting his sword, Gendry made straight away to swipe the sword at her head, but Arya ducked, her hair whirling around her as she moved herself fluidly. Before she was fully upright, Gendry attacked again, swinging his sword at her, but Arya caught it just in time, her blade glancing off of his and deflecting it. He thrust again, at her head, and Arya side stepped it, being forced to one knee from the angle. As he attacked again, she stood up, pivoting on one foot, and bending over backwards as the blade cut through air where her neck had been just moments ago.

Gendry brought his sword down where she had been bent backwards, and Arya stepped away just in time, her sword nimbly catching his. The force of his sword on hers sent a shock of pain down her arm, but Arya ignored it, for he swung at her again. Arya whirled away before he had stopped moving, spinning around behind his back while he turned around, them having swapped places.

Instead of letting Gendry attack again, Arya thrust forward first, but was blocked by Gendry's blade. Arya noticed that in that second, Gendry had over reached, and she used this to aim her sword at his leather clad arm. Gendry hissed as the flat of her sword thwacked against his arm.

He moved backwards, taking up his beginning stance, eyeing her carefully, and Arya did the same, Dark Sister tucked away behind her back. Gendry shook out his arm, clearly unbothered by her glancing blow, but Arya swallowed; Gendry appeared fine, but she could already feel her arms tiring out from the new swords weight, and Gendry's brute strength when their swords clashed.

Gendry made the first move again, aiming for her midriff, and Arya met his sword with hers, before twisting her sword away, and immediately using it to block his next swoop that was aimed lower. He swiped at her thighs, and Arya met his parry, her smaller sword shaking slightly from the force. Quickly, Arya whipped her sword across, and then back, dancing daringly close to him; Gendry had the advantage of reach, so Arya moved in closer to take that away, forcing him to fight with his arms closer to him, for every step back that he took, Arya followed.

Gendry narrowed his eyes at her, and caught her blade with his, using it to push Arya away; she might be faster than him, but his strength against hers was too much, and Arya was unbalanced for just a moment. Gendry took the advantage, and kicked her in the chest, sending her flying backwards to the ground with a groan.

Arya took one second to get her breath back, and then flung her legs around and did a kick up, landing poised, her sword aimed above her head, with one knee on the ground and her hand on her dagger. Gendry seemed surprised at her quick recovery, and when Arya sprang up, jabbing her sword at him, he was even more unprepared, only just meeting her sword in time. Then, with all of the strength that he had, Gendry brought his sword up and swung it down on her.

Arya felt her eyes slam shut with pain as her sword met his, the power and force behind his swing sending ricochets of pain down her arms. Arya grit her teeth at the pain, and let her sword slide along his to back away, but Gendry didn't let her, and swung at her again, forcing her to raise her sword in defense. Arya barely met it in time, and the force sent her to one knee. She pushed up against his with all the strength she had, managing to dislodge his sword for long enough to get on both of her feet again. Her arms stung with pain, and her back protested, but Arya met his next parry, albeit slightly messily. Before she could spin away, Gendry brought his sword at hers with such strength, it knocked Dark Sister straight out of Arya's hand, where upon, it flew through the air and landed with a thud in the moss.

Thinking quickly, Arya grasped the dagger at her belt, and with two hands used it to block Gendry's sword just in time; she grit her teeth as he pushed her sword back against her, her arms shaking visibly from the strain she was putting them through. Finally, with one last shove, Gendry pushed her away, and Arya's knees buckled from the weight, sending her to the ground. Arya sat half propped up on one elbow, panting, struggling to relax her grip on the handle of the dagger.

Gendry sheathed his sword, and offered her his hand to pull her up. Arya took it and he yanked her up with enough strength that she fell against his chest, still breathing heavily.

"Arya?" He asked, taking her shoulder in his large hand. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Arya groaned, as her left shoulder smarted in agony; she must have strained it in blocking his sword. With some effort, Arya pushed herself away from his leather clad chest and stooped to pick up her sword. Even picking up the sword was a difficulty, as if it weighed ten tonnes. Arya hissed as she manipulated it into its sheath.

"Are you sure?" Gendry asked hesitantly, moving to take her elbow. When Arya scowled, he held up his free hand in submission, and led her over to a fallen tree, pushing her down onto it gently.

"Are you sure that was your first time with a proper sword?" Gendry asked, sitting down next to her. Arya hissed as she stretched out her legs.

"Sure," she said. "I don't know much about fighting with a full sword," she admitted, rubbing some of the tenderness from her wrist.

"What do you mean?" Gendry asked, his forearms rested on his thighs.

"I only know how to fight with a rapier blade- you remember Needle?" Gendry smiled and nodded. "I only ever had that as a sword until this one, so I only know the Braavosi style."

Gendry raised an eyebrow. "You trained in sword fighting with a rapier?"

Arya considered for a moment, rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the tension there. "In a way, I guess. At least, I practiced water dancing with it. But I learned how to fight with a wooden rod, training only in darkness." At least, that was mostly true... she did train in darkness, seeing as she had been blind. The dark was where Arya fought best.

"In the dark?" Gendry asked, sounding confused. "Why in the dark?"

"It means that I learned to anticipate attacks without sight," she explained. "It trained me to be instinctive as well as observant."

Gendry considered her explanation, before asking, "who trained you how to fight?"

Arya hesitated. "No one," she said, before standing up, and walking over to Astrid, keeping her face neutral. She couldn't tell him about the time she spent with the Guild of the Faceless Men. She still smarted about having been forced to leave her faces behind at Winterfell, having been unable to get them before she left. She was certain that no one would find them; they were hidden in her leather satchel, and stashed in the hidden niche in the wall. Still, it stung to not have them with her- she had been collecting them for a long time, and they would have been very useful for if she were to escape.

Gendry seemed to accept that she didn't wish to talk about it, and mounted his own horse, while Arya tightened her girth, having loosened it earlier. Arya swung up onto the mare, ignoring it when her arms protested. The two set off back to camp at a steady walk.

After a few moments Gendry shattered the comfortable silence with a question that sent a weight dropping into Arya's stomach. "Why are you so against marrying me?"

Arya inhaled deeply, and then let the air all whoosh out of her nose, waiting before she spoke. "It's not you that I don't want to marry. It's anyone."

Gendry rolled his eyes. "Fine, why are you so against marrying anyone at all?" He rephrased.

Arya bit her lip while she thought how to put it into words. "I never really did want to marry, you know?" She said. Gendry quirked an eyebrow at her answer, and Arya sighed and elaborated. "My sister was always so perfect when we were children. Everyone always said so. "She's such a little beauty, just wait until she's older; all the lords will want her," and "one day she'll make the perfect Lady Wife." They never said those things about me, and I never wanted them to, but it was always "Awkward little Arya Underfoot," or "Boyish Arya horse face", or "If she keeps going as she is, she'll never be fit as any lords wife." No, it was always Sansa that would go far, the beautiful, elder sister, who could dance and sing and sew.

"I always knew that I could never be as good as her at being a lady, so I resolved to become something else. Something different. And I did. Sansa was destined to be a beautiful Lady with pretty babes and a handsome husband. I was destined to be a knight in shining armour, to ride off into battle like my father. Neither of us got to be those things." Arya paused, and sent a sideways glance at Gendry; he was watching her, listening intently, but appeared confused.

"I don't understand what this has to do with you refusing to wed me," Gendry said, frowning.

Arya looked back ahead, training her eyes on the trees. " To survive I had to become not just something else, but someone else. I couldn't rely on anyone, I had to be independent; the fewer people I trusted, the safer I was. I had you... for a time. After the Hound took me, I had no one. I did... despicable things, to survive. But I did survive. I was tied up with ropes, I was put in chains, I was locked away, but I fought and I fought until I was free. Free to make my own choices, free to do as I pleased, when I pleased..." Arya turned her face to look at Gendry, "...and I am not about to throw that away."

Gendry opened his mouth as if to argue, but Arya cut him off. "Think about it Gendry; what will you want in the long term if you marry me? What do you plan?"

He swallowed and licked his lips. "I don't know," he said huskily, his ice blue eyes staring at her intensely.

Arya scoffed. "Yes you do," she said. "You will want a pretty wife to show off to the other lords, a wife that will run your household while you go off to battle and run the rest of the lands. You will want me to sit by your side at feasts and nod and agree with you at meetings. You will want me to have your babes, and nurse them, leaving me defenseless and unable to do anything for myself. You will want me to stay home and raise them while you get to keep doing everything you normally do," she finished sharply.

Gendry rode up closer to her, and grabbed her reins, pulling her to a stop. Astrid snorted in protest, and put her ears back, snapping at Rogue. "That isn't true!" Gendry said loudly. "I couldn't care less for a wife that just sat by, wearing a pretty dress and a perfect smile. I want a wife that will tell me when I'm being an idiot, a wife that will want to train with me in the yard rather than sit with me by a fire. I don't want to just settle down into that kind of role!" He grabbed one of her hands, despite her protest. "And you can't pretend that you don't want your own babes one day," he said sharply.

Arya yanked her hand out of his. "I _don't!_ " She snapped. "Even if I was interested in that life, what if something happened to you or I? What would happen to them then? Would they have to suffer the same things that I did? That Sansa or Robb did?" Arya made to spur her horse on, but Gendry manouvered his in front of her.

"That's what you're scared of?" Gendry demanded. When Arya didn't reply, he repeated himself more firmly. "Tell me, Arya, is this what you're afraid of?"

"No!" Arya snapped. "Yes!... I don't know, alright?! I never even considered marriage or children until Jon brought it up a few weeks ago!"

Gendry paused, and Arya watched as a slow smile spread across his face. "So you would be open to me, then? Open to everything a marriage involves, but without the responsibilities?"

Arya blinked. "I don't- I don't know! I suppose so..." she lead off, more quietly, feeling shaken by his question. All of this... it was a completely new concept to her. She supposed that what Gendry described was... love. Arya hadn't experienced it before, or at least, not in that way. She had loved her mother and her father, she had loved her brothers and her sister, hells, she had loved her wolf and her pony- but she had never loved a man in the way that Gendry meant.

Arya knew about physical love, of course; she had been too young for her mother to really teach her about that sort of thing, but she had grown up around it- she had seen rape on the road, met pretty Pia in the buttery at Harrenhal, been in brothels, heard Tom O'Sevens songs, been inside the pleasure house in Braavos; while Arya had never experienced it herself, she knew what it was. Was that what Gendry meant? Arya doubted that she would be very good at that kind of thing.

"So I have chance?" Gendry asked firmly. "I have a chance at winning you?"

Arya was about to snap that she wasn't a thing to be won, but hadn't she said that to him herself? _You had better do your best, Gendry Baratheon, for I shall be trying just as hard to win._ They were her own words, she couldn't take them back now.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Arya said wryly. Gendry smirked. Arya took a deep breath and sighed. "You can try, Gendry, but I promise you now that you'll never succeed."

Gendry smirked, and rode his horse beside her, nose to tail, so that he was as close as he could be while on separate horses. "What if we made a small wager?" He asked devilishly.

Arya narrowed her eyes at him. "What wager?" She asked suspiciously.

He leaned forwards slightly, shifting his weight in the saddle. "If I can get you to say that you love me within a years time, you'll marry me."

Arya sucked in a breath. That was... bold, of him. "And if I win?" Gendry shrugged his shoulders, implying that she decide on her own reward. Arya considered carefully for a moment, and then met his gaze. "If I win, you will persuade Jon to let me be one of the Kings Guard."

Gendry cocked an eyebrow. "There aren't any women in the Kings Guard," he said, "and you know what it entails? Forsake all claims and never marry?"

"Exactly," she said, a smirk playing on her lips.

Gendry smiled at her. "Are we agreed, then? It's a deal?"

Arya nodded, and Gendry held out his hand to her. She kept her eyes trained on his and placed her hand in his much larger one.

"Deal," She said.

* * *

The yard was full of people and the smells of proper food, which steamed in multiple pots over fires. Gendry and Arya made their way across the yard to where the squires appeared to be caring for horses. Before they could even reach the fence that had two other horses tied to it, a squire ran over, and stood up as straight as he could. He was tall, taller than Arya, though she guessed him to be no more than four and ten, with wavy brown hair and eyes.

"M'lord," he said breathlessly, "here, let me take your horses, I'll take care of them!"

Arya cocked an eyebrow at the boys excitement, and looked at Gendry questioningly, but he just shook his head and chuckled underneath his breath. "Alright, Jayce, make sure he has a good rub down," he handed the stallions reins to the boy, who grinned. "Oh, and Jayce," the boy widened his eyes at the idea of being asked to complete a second task, "take care of Lady Arya's horse too, would you?"

Jayce snapped his gaze to Arya and darted forwards to take Astrid's reins. The mare snorted at the fast movement, and lifted her nose in irritation. "Of course, I'll take care of her proper well, Milady!" And with that, the boy clucked his tongue and lead the two horses away, oblivious to the way that Astrid seemed to be considering nipping his arm in indignation.

Arya crossed her arms playfully, and turned to look at Gendry, looking at him with disbelief. "What... was that?" Arya asked, cocking her head in the direction of the stable lad, who seemed to be boasting to the other boys that he was charged with both Gendry and Arya's horses.

Gendry chuckled and turned around on his heel, heading towards a log that had been set out beside a fire pit. "Jayce, stable boy. I told him that if he worked hard I would promote him to my squire." He sat down on the log with a grunt, and Arya hesitated before sitting next to him.

"And is he always like that?" Arya asked, gesturing vaguely behind her.

"Hyper?" Gendry asked lightly, reaching for a metal mug to fill with ale. "Yes. You should have seen him when I told him I'd find someone to teach him how to fight. Damn near started skipping," he snorted. He took a swig of ale, and then sobered a little, stretching out one leg beside hers. He offered her the mug, but Arya shook her head, wrinkling her nose. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "What, you don't like ale?"

Arya shook her head as he took another gulp. "No, not really. It's better than wine or beer, but I would still prefer water."

"You always used to drink it," he said, seeming surprised.

Arya shrugged her shoulders. "There wasn't anything else to drink," she said dismissively. "So? Did you find someone to train the boy?"

Gendry shook his head. "No one has the time; I'd do it myself, but the Gods know I don't have the time these days." He paused, and leaned back, regarding her, causing her to shift uncomfortably. "What about you? You could do it well enough."

Arya snorted loudly, causing a squire walking past to jump at the sound. "Me?" She asked, assuming that he was jesting. When he nodded Arya felt the smile on her face fall a little. "Gendry, I don't know a thing about Westerosi sword fighting, you just saw that," she said grudgingly, still smarting at his victory.

Gendry shook his head. "What I saw was someone that had never fought with a full sword almost beating me," he said genially. "If I wasn't three times your bloody size you'd have beaten me in is plenty enough for Jayce, he only needs the basics for now."

Arya quirked him a disbelieving look. "Gendry, don't be stupid; being competent with a sword does not make me a good teacher. I'd end up teaching him my way, the Braavosi way- not the way you would want," she narrowed her eyes at is flippant shrug, "not that there's anything wrong with my way."

"I never said that there was anything wrong with it," Gendry said dismissively, "I just don't think it's as effective as the Westerosi style."

Arya snapped her face around, and hissed. How dare he dismiss Water Dancing? "Water dancing is better than the barbarian hacking and sawing that you employ!" She snapped. Syrio Forel had taught her the art of Water Dancing, and it had saved her life, made her the swords person she was today. The slim rapier blades might not pierce even the most basic of armour, but they were fast and light, and they could kill a person just as easily, so long as you knew how.

Gendry didn't look convinced, but he held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. Teach it to Jayce if it's so good."

Arya growled in frustration. "You don't just teach Water Dancing; it doesn't just happen!"

"Then how did you learn it?" He poked, reaching to toss a log on the fire.

"Through years, and years of practice!" Arya exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Fine, I'll teach the boy if you want me to, but don't you complain when he doesn't become a Westerosi warrior!" And with that Arya stood up abruptly and stalked off, leaving Gendry snorting with laughter behind her.

Arya calmed down as she walked, not entirely sure where she was walking _to_ , just knowing that she needed to get away from Gendry; she had spent plenty of time with the prat for the day. She silently fumed over him disrespecting Water Dancing- it was just as effective as Westerosi styling, more so if you knew what you were doing. Arya knew that in a fair fight, rapier to rapier, she would win in moments; everything she had been through to become what she was had ensured that. Needle was a part of her, she knew it just as well as she knew herself. If she could become as confident with Dark Sister, she could be amazing, she knew it. With a full sword that was still small enough to employ water dancing techniques, she could be unbeatable. She just needed to train, just like she had with Needle.

She would show Gendry, and every other person who thought Water Dancing was useless. Arya smirked as she spied the stable boy, and strode over to him. As she reached him he went wide eyed, surprised that a Lady would approach him.

"Milady, your horse is well cared for , I saw to it myse-" he started, giving a small bow, but Arya cut him off with her hand up.

"We start sword training tomorrow, first light," she said bruskly. "Meet me by the gates." Arya made to turn and walk away, but he darted around in front of her, grinning.

"Sword fighting?" He repeated, barely able to contain his excitement. "With Swords?"

Arya was about to roll her eyes and ask him what else with, but she supposed that wasn't entirely true. "Not to begin with, no," his face fell slightly, but Arya carried on. "We'll have to start at the basics before you can use a real sword. But eventually, yes, with swords."

Arya watched with vague amusement as the boy practically jumped in the air, his grin reaching from ear to ear, before racing off to the other stable lads, shouting "I'm gonna be a knight! A real, true knight!"

Arya shook her head, smiling to herself.

* * *

"You want me to chase rabbits?" Jayce asked uncertainly, eyeing her as if hoping she was jesting.

"Yep," Arya said, her hands on her hips. When Jayce continued to look doubtful Arya sighed. "The best swordsmen are fast- my old fighting teacher was the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos, and he used to say that a swordsman must be as quick as a snake," she said, smiling sadly at the memory of him

Jayce wasn't convinced. "Did he make you chase rabbits too?"

"Well, he had me chasing cats in Kings Landing," Arya said, shrugging, "but there aren't any cats here, so rabbits will have to do."

"But... we will practice with swords at some point, won't we?" He asked hopefully, his eyes as round as a pups.

"Well, we'll need proper training swords first, but to begin with, we'll use these," Arya said, picking up the two broom handles she had pilfered from the stables. "Not ideal, but they'll do the trick until we reach Storms End." She tossed one to Jayce, who caught it deftly in his right hand. Arya approved; he had good reflexes. She took up her basic fighting stance, back straight, knees slightly bent, standing sideface. Jayce watched her dubiously.

"Why are you standing like that?" He asked, holding the broom handle loosely in his hand, the end resting on the grass.

"It means you present a smaller target to your opponent," she explained, demonstrating a few movements deftly. "You can move more easily too, there is more flexibility." She stood up straight. "Show me your fighting stance."

Jayce copied her stance, but Arya shook her head, and walked over to him, beginning to circle him slowly. "Your back is bent," she pointed out, prodding his back with her broomstick, "and your arm is too low; when you have an actual sword it will be much heavier." She placed the end of her broom handle under his, and moved them both upwards until she was satisfied, and moved behind him. "Your feet are too close together, and your knees too straight; you need them for balance- the better your balance is, the less likely your opponent will do this!" She whipped out her broom handle and hit him just above the ankle, sweeping him off his feet with ease.

Jayce landed in a heap on the ground, groaning. Arya heard a chorus of laughter from above, and turned around; the other stable boys had climbed the wall and were watching in glee as Arya taught Jayce the basics. Jayce went red in the face and stood up, picking his broom handle off the ground.

"Again!" Arya said, moving fluidly back to her beginning stance. Jayce copied reluctantly, but Arya noticed that his stance was much better. "Better," she praised, and he smiled a little at her word. "Now, I want you to try and disarm me."

Arya didn't move, and Jayce came towards her, lashing out with his stick. Predictably he went from right to left in a sweeping motion, and Arya almost rolled her eyes. She flicked her fake sword, and his handle flew to the ground. Jayce made to pick it up again, amidst peals of laughter from his friends. He tried again, and a second time, the broom handle went flying. This time the laughter was louder, and Jayce sent them a rude hand gesture.

"You lot bloody come down and try it then," he shouted.

Arya rolled her eyes, and they resumed, continuing long after the stable boys left to do their work. By the end, the boy was rubbing his bruises all over, and complaining loudly of the pain.

"Did you have to hit me so hard, Milady?" He asked reproachfully, pulling up his sleeve to examine a fresh bruise.

Arya smiled at his drama. "Oh, its only a bruise," she said. "You won't learn to get better if I don't hit you. My old instructor used to say "Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you stronger,"."

"Yeah, well, I wish you wouldn't keep giving me so many lessons," he said grumpily, clearly not so excited at the idea of learning to fight now that he realised how she planned to go about it.

Arya cuffed him over the back of the head. "Go on, go muck out some stables or something. And don't forget to chase those rabbits; no more lessons until you bring one to me."

He thanked her, slightly reluctantly, and Arya watched him jog off to the loose boxes, where his friends ruffled his hair and teased him. Arya smiled as he wrestled one to the ground; had she and her brothers really been like that once?

"You could have gone a bit easier on him, you know," Said a voice from her left. Arya rolled her eyes and kept walking, not looking at him.

"You told me to teach him," she said, "and I'm teaching him. If you don't like how I do it, do it yourself."

Gendry caught up with her easily, his long legs carrying him forwards. "He'll never be able to catch a rabbit, Arya," he said seriously, clearly not convinced by her method of teaching.

"Why not?" Arya asked lightly, before dipping her face in a barrel of water. She resurfaced dripping, and Gendry was smiling with amusement as she struggled to wipe the hair from her face.

"He's only a boy," He argued.

Arya shrugged, lifting up the hem of her shirt and wiping her face on it. "I was only a girl. He's what, thirteen?"

"Fourteen," Gendry admitted, as Arya tucked her now wet shirt back into her britches.

"Exactly. I was doing it at nine," she said. "Besides, these rabbits are fat and lazy; no one has hunted them before. They'll be easy to catch."

Gendry grabbed her arm and turned her around. "Not once they start running, they won't be," he said seriously.

Arya shrugged and cocked her head. "He'll just have to sneak up on them then, won't he?" She said flippantly.

She made to turn, but Gendry whirled her back around. "Arya, be serious. You said that you would teach him how to fight, not all of this... nonsense," he said, gesturing at the abandoned broom handles.

Arya narrowed her eyes. "It isn't nonsense. It's how I was taught. Besides, you said yourself that I could teach him my way, so long as he came out of it a decent fighter."

Gendry regarded her closely and then sighed, and let go of her. "Fine," he said, "so long as you do teach him to actually use a sword as well."

Arya smirked, and nodded. "It might take a while, but we'll get there. He'll be a great swordsman, you'll see."

They both looked over to the stables, where Jayce had just fallen over in the mud, two spilled buckets of water beside him. Gendry turned to her with a dubious expression.

"You're going to make _that_ ," he said with a nod at the boy, who was trying and failing to get up in the slippery mud, "into a great swordsman?"

Arya grimaced. "As I said, it might take a while. A very _long_ while."

* * *

Daenerys Targaryen sighed as she stared out of the window of her solar in the Red Keep; despite the war having ended a year ago, there was still much work to do. Buildings still needed repair, and the city wall was only just being strengthened. But even despite the ramshackle buildings that made up the great city, it was still quite the view. Smoke rose in spirals from Bakers Row, and she could even hear the steady clang of metal on metal from The Street of Steel.

"So?" Said the deep and silken voice from behind her. "What did the letter say? Is it good or bad news?"

Dany turned around and regarded her nephew- even if he _was_ older than her, strictly speaking- and smiled slightly. "Good news. Arya Stark left two weeks ago for Storms End- though not without protest, he says." Dany had never met Jon's youngest sister, but the girl sounded intriguing to say the least.

Aegon harrumphed, and sat down in his chair, clearly more relaxed now that he knew it was good news. "If the little She Wolf were my younger sister, I'd have taken her over my knee long ago," he grumbled. Dany suppressed a smile. He had over indulged the night before, and had woken up with a sore head and a foul mood.

"Well, from what Jon says, Arya would not take kindly to that," Dany chuckled, amused by the girls antics that so plagued her intended. She heard Aegon mutter something under his breath, but ignored him, turning back to the window, and resting one of her palms on the sill.

"At least that means she'll be less like to draw an opening for a rebellion, once she's wed," Aegon admitted, moving to stand behind her. "If Elmar Frey can't whinge about it, the Iron born will be less wont to use him in their schemes. The sooner the girl is married and has a babe in her belly, the better."

Dany frowned at the mention of children. As much as she adored her dragons, it still stung when she was reminded that she would never have children of her own, human children. After the war there had been somewhat of a boom in terms of pregnancies, and the constant reminder of what she could never have, would never be able to give Jon, hurt. Dany shrugged it off as best she could; after all, Aegon would no doubt have his own little babes one day, and she could play the doting aunt then.

She wondered how Arya Stark would react to the prospect of children later in life. As interesting as she sounded, she didn't, however, sound to be very motherly at all.

* * *

"Gendry, for fucks sake!" Arya hissed, as he pulled her down from her horse with a mischievous flourish. Gendry laughed and set her on her feet, unfazed by her ferocious glare.

"Don't let Lady Reed hear you say that," Gendry chuckled, clearly in high spirits. The host had travelled another week, and had made good progress; they had been prepared to make camp through the Neck, but a rider had met them on the road, with an invitation from Greywater Watch to stay and feast the night. While their short stay at Moat Cailin had rested the horses, and the stew those nights had been better than on the road, a feast would be welcome.

Arya had been surprised bu the invitation; House Reed was not a large house, and she wasn't aware that they had the resources to feed the entire host. Arya wondered if Meera would still be there- she had left Winterfell within days of Arya's arrival home, to see a cousin that had taken ill. Arya had barely spoken to her brothers wife, and did not know what to expect, but from what she knew of the older girl she seemed interesting enough.

"Lady Reed won't give a shit about what I say," Arya snapped at him. Gendry just rolled his eyes, as they made their way over to the small docking ridge. Greywater Watch was an interesting castle to say the least; it was built upon a crannog, one of the man-made floating islands of the swamps, and as a result it never stayed in the same place, making it impossible for ravens or enemies to find. The castle was isolated, and quiet, only accessible by boats; as the castle never stayed in one place a bridge was impossible.

Gendry offered Arya his hand as they climbed into a rowing boat, but Arya batted it away and climbed in nimbly. Gendry snorted and climbed in himself; the boats were only large enough for two at a time, and beside them Gendry's men climbed in to their own- most of the host would be camping outside in the trees. Arya watched in amusement as one man clambered into a boat inelegantly, before the small boat tipped over, pitching him into the murky water. He emerged moments later, spitting out a large mouthful of the lake with pond weed dripping from his nose.

Arya turned back to take the oars of their own boat, but Gendry had already snatched them up, and was smirking at her from the other end of the boat. Arya huffed and crossed her arms.

"It wouldn't be right to let Milady do all the hard work, now, would it?" He taunted, as he begun to row them through the light mist that settled above the water. The castle itself loomed distantly, and Arya was sure that she could even see it bobbing slightly.

"Have you ever even rowed a boat?" Arya asked doubtfully, though Gendry pulled the oars with strength that quickly pulled them ahead of the other boats.

To her surprise, Gendry let out a quick laugh at her question. "Aye, you could say that," Gendry said. Arya cocked an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. The boat was so small that Gendry legs took up a vast amount of space, his knees touching her own and rocking with every pull of the oars. "Not long after the Hound took you, the Brotherhood sold me to a witch, Melisandre," he began, peaking Arya's interest.

"Melisandre? She was with Stannis wasn't she?" Arya asked, dipping her hand into the water, and withdrawing it quickly as she felt how slimy the water felt.

Gendry nodded, snorting in amusement as Arya flicked the slime from her fingers. "Aye, she was; that's why she took me. She knew that I was Roberts bastard son, said she was taking me to Stannis at Dragonstone because of it. I didn't realize what for at the time, but she did some demonstration with my blood, and whatever it was that she did convinced Stannis to burn me for his God. Said there was power in Kings Blood." He grunted slightly as he pulled the oars and stuck his leg out straight, sending his foot between hers, under her seat. "Davos Seaworth helped me to escape; put me in a rowing boat and told me to aim for some star to get to Kingslanding. I rowed for weeks before I got there," he finished with a laugh, though there was something else in his eyes.

"What was the demonstration?" Arya asked with curiously. She had heard many tales about the Red Woman, and had been intrigued with her since she had heard Jon's story.

Gendry swallowed, and hesitated before answering. "She took my blood," he answered reluctantly, clearly not wishing to elaborate further. Arya narrowed her eyes slightly; there was something that he wasn't telling her.

"How did she take it?" She asked, feigning disinterest.

There was a split second of pause before he answered. "She seduced me," he admitted. Arya felt her eyes snap open in shock at his admission. "I didn't know why I was there, and she was treating me like royalty... and she was stunning to look at too," he rushed, trying to defend himself.

Initially Arya felt a kick of jealousy as he explained, jealousy for Melisandre and anger at Gendry for falling for it, but it quickly abated; who was she to judge? Gendry had been, what, seventeen, at the time, older? Arya had been a scrawny child at the time, and missing to boot. Why was she even jealous? It wasn't like she even cared for the bull headed boy in that way. Still, it left a sour taste in her mouth.

"What did she do with the blood?" She asked, slightly suspiciously, but before he could wipe the uncomfortable expression from his face, there came a shout from ahead, causing Gendry to turn around and look into the mist.

* * *

 **Ok my mans, I know that this chapter stopped in a slightly odd place, but I just thought that it was getting a bit long for one chapter! Hope you all enjoyed it :) I almost had a heart attack a moment ago; a few days ago my laptop got a weird message so I shut everything down in case anything happened, and when I logged back on to edit this chapter I couldn't find it anywhere! I thought that the whole thing had somehow deleted itself, lmao! Luckily that wasn't the case, so I'll just upload it now in case it happens again... Hope you enjoy! Over and Out xoxo**


	16. The Past is Present

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, all rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Ok, I know this is a late one, I apologise! I've had exams for the last few weeks, and have been really busy and exhausted with it all- I spent sIX hours in exams today!- anyway, that's why I haven't updated in ages. Don't shoot me!- I still don't know my results! Alright, I hope that you all enjoyed the last chapter, I've had a lot of positive feedback, so I guess I'll just keep going until my fingers drop off... literally, they're all taped up lol, horses forget how big they are sometimes! Unfortunately it was my non writing hand, so I didn't even get out of exams! Anyway, I'll stop wasting your time now, and just get on with the story, which is the only reason you are on here- not to listen to my aimless prattle... which I'm still doing *awkward silence*. I'll just say the same as always, I hope you enjoy this update, let me know what you think, any questions I'll try and get back to you, and Over and Out xox**

Arya hadn't noticed how quickly Gendry had taken them across the grey water, but now that she focused, she could just see a murky shape looming ahead, obscured by the thick fog that rolled over the quietly rippling water. As Gendry stopped pulling at the oars the little rowing boat floated gently along the surface, water lapping quietly at the sides. Behind them Arya vaguely noticed the others doing the same; she hadn't noticed how noisy the pulling of many oars made at once, but now it was eerily quiet. Arya liked the quiet, so long as she had something to do that distracted her from her painful memories, but the silence here was eerie, and Arya felt a shiver run down her spine that had nothing to do with the chilly air.

The boat rocked on the lake for a minute, before the voice rang out again, echoing ominously across the shifting surface. "Halt! Who would cross the Greywater?"

Arya cocked an eyebrow; they were expecting them, weren't they? And exactly how was one supposed to stop a boat? She flashed a look at Gendry, but he had turned about from the plank he was sat on, his movement causing the boat to lurch from side to side.

"Gendry Baratheon," He called, his deep voice all the louder in the silence. Arya's eyes swept through the mist, searching for where the answer might come from. She almost missed it through the veil of mist, but ahead of them to the left, about twenty yards, she could see a small yellow light. "I believe Lady Reed is expecting us."

There was a pause, and Arya listened keenly for a response, that came moments later. "She is. You may approach." Gendry turned around and gave Arya a short look of hesitation, before picking up the oars. Arya could understand his unease; hells, Arya had lived in a house of death worshipers, and this place was almost as creepy as that.

The small glowing light slowly grew larger and brighter as they grew closer, and before long Arya could see shapes in the mist, and as they pulled up beside them Arya began to see their faces; two men, each with a small horn strapped to their belt. They were small, not much bigger than Jayce, but Arya could see that they were built for speed and sharp reflexes. They were stood on a small floating crannogs, about the size of Arya's bed at Winterfell. It drifted slightly upstream even as Gendry pulled the boat up beside them. Aside from the two men there was little else on it; two stools, a lantern on a post, and an iron bowl filled with wood, and a small jar of something beside it.

"How many of you are there?" The smaller man asked, his hand resting lightly on a quiver of arrows that leant against his stool.

"On boats?" Gendry asked. "About twenty. The rest are setting up camp on shore." Arya crossed her arms; the majority of that twenty were ex brotherhood men.

The second man nodded. "That's fine. Apologies for the hostility M'Lord, it isn't often we get visitors, you see."

Arya clucked her tongue. "I couldn't imagine why," she said, surveying the thick fog with distrust. Arya had good eyes; she could see far in the dark, and could spot a rabbit across the hill, but that didn't matter in the fog; the grey swirls completely concealed anything further than a few metres away... who knew what was hiding behind it, ready to attack. They would certainly not expect it- not only were they unable to see, but the lapping water covered up any sounds. Arya shook herself; Meera was her brothers wife, why would she attack them?

"Arya," Gendry said reproachfully, though she saw his lip twitch slightly. He turned back to the men, who were still and silent. "So we can pass then?" He asked.

The first man nodded. "You may." Arya noticed that in the minute they had been talking, the little crannog had shifted further away. She watched as the small man picked up the jar and poured something on the wood, before throwing the second lamp in it. The iron bowl flared up instantly, the flames compellingly bright and warm against the chill of the lake.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a second burst of light, ahead and to the left, though she couldn't quite determine how far away it was. The second man must have seen her confusion. "The fog can trick the eyes, Milady; follow the lights and you'll find your way to the castle. The fog is one of our best defenses; we just sit quiet and anyone attacking gets lost in the waters. All of the crannogs shift during the day; by tomorrow this crannog could be a mile down the way," he explained, and Arya nodded, interested. Simple, but she could already see the many advantages of it, no matter how isolated the place was. Arya imagined that it was likely just as impossible to attack Greywater Watch as it was to attack the Eyrie.

Gendry thanked the guards and began to row them out to the second light. Every time that Arya thought that they were sure to be close, the fog turned out to be empty, and the light further ahead; Arya found the process frustrating and hoped that there weren't too many of these before they reached the castle. Eventually they reached the second crannog, where another pair of the strange small men told them to look for the third light, again ahead and to the right, and so it went, crannog after crannog telling them to follow the lights. Arya hadn't eaten anything that day, but the journey dragged on and the constant rocking of the little boat churned her stomach a little.

As they reached tow with what felt like the twentieth crannog, Arya was relieved to hear that the next light was the actual castle. Gendry thanked them and rowed on out eagerly, and Arya matched his enthusiasm. The supposedly short boat ride had lasted an hour at the least, and her legs began to ache in the tiny boat; she could only imagine how Gendry felt, seeing as his legs were so much longer, one of his legs still thrust between hers, his foot underneath the plank that she sat on. She was grudgingly impressed that he wasn't breathing heavily yet, despite rowing them what seemed like miles up the lake.

Slowly, Arya began to see the castle take shape. She was surprised by its size; it was tall, and narrow, but still much larger than she had imagined. It was a very queer type of castle she thought, not for the first time. It had no need for walls, the natural defense more than enough, and it was made entirely from wood. A long wooden pier ran towards them, and Gendry drew the boat up beside it, before docking it securely and climbing out, surprisingly steady. He offered Arya a hand, but she pursed her lips. She didn't need help climbing out of a stupid boat! Although... the boat had drifted away from the pier a little... or rather, quite a lot- Arya didn't know if she would be able to get out with much dignity. Still, she didn't need him to help!

Gendry quirked an eyebrow at her hesitation when she stubbornly made no move to place her hand in his. "Just take my hand, Arya," he sighed, and narrowing her lips, Arya placed her small one in his big one; before she could even make a move for herself, Gendry swiftly pulled her closer and, wrapping an arm around her waist, swept her onto the pier, in one smooth motion that surprised her. Arya fell against him slightly, but let go quickly. When she looked up at him he had already moved to pull the boat in more securely, but she thought she could see a satisfied smirk on his face.

She narrowed her eyes at his back, and was contemplating pushing him into the water, when he said, "If you push me in the lake, I'm taking you down with me, that I can promise." Arya stepped backwards with a huff.

As the men docked and stepped onto the wooden walkway, Arya and Gendry made their way down the pier, hesitating before each new step into the thick grey hangover, reaching blindly. It was an odd sensation; though the huge crannog felt decidedly more solid than the little boat, it still seemed to rock and sway slightly as it slowly drifted inch by inch, though Arya decided that she had to be imagining it. Even so, she felt tempted to steady herself on Gendry as they walked... but the thought of how smug his face would look steeled her nerve. The men grumbled behind them, clearly just as disoriented as she was by the odd sensation.

It wasn't far, but the fog made it seem like it took an age to get to the end, and when Arya saw the glow of torches she felt relief swoop low and settle in her stomach; any kind of barrier that separated her from the ominous fog was welcome in her book. At the end of the pier Arya began to see the figures of people, which became clearer once they stepped into the light of the flaming torches.

"Lord Baratheon, Lady Arya," a woman said, "I'm so glad that you can stay." Arya had to search for a moment to see who had spoken, until a small woman, thin, with curly brown-going-grey hair, stepped forward, a small smile etched upon her face.

"Lady Reed, I can only thank you for your invitation," Gendry replied, bowing slightly. "We stopped at Moat Cailin not long ago, but found little rest there. The men are grateful for your invitation to stay a while."

Lady Reed, smiled again quietly. "I apologise for the hostility of our guards; you must forgive them, we seldom receive guests. It's the fog and the wet- that and most men don't trust a castle that floats!"

Gendry chuckled. "There is nothing to forgive. We understand their wariness."

Before Lady Reed could open her mouth to reply, a girl pushed her way forward. Arya recognised her immediately as Meera; she looked very similar to her mother, now that Arya saw them side by side.

"Lady Arya, its wonderful to see you," Meera offered with a subdued smile. They had barely spoken at Winterfell; there had been so many people to see, and so little time before Meera left. "I trust that my husband is well?"

Arya nodded. "Last I saw him, yes. As happy as Bran gets, at any rate," she said, chuckling. Meera joined in.

"I hope that he hasn't been too brooding; he's been better since the War for the Dawn, but he still gets all mysterious and dark sometimes," Meera joked. It was true; Arya had known before she saw him that he would be changed from the boy she last saw, but she had never expected such a drastic turn.

"Please, come inside," Lady Reed said, gesturing to the castle. "Seeing as it's a wooden castle we don't have fires, but its plenty warm in there, and there is much less fog- then I might be able to see you properly!"

Arya shot Gendry a quick look as they followed Lady Reed in and through the castle; it felt secure, safe, in a way that Arya had not expected. Instead of burning torches on the walls, small candles perched on little shelves, covered with glasses which had small holes at the top. There were a large number of windows, but the narrow walkways were still cramped, though not unpleasantly.

Eventually they arrived in what Arya assumed was their hall- less than half the size of the one at Winterfell, it had a low ceiling, though higher than the walkways, and had windows stretching along two sides- not that she could see far out of them, as the fog drifted absently over the glass. Despite there being no fire places, it was warm enough, and a nice relief from the oppressive fog. The "high" table differed only from the others in the way it was positioned width ways instead of length ways.

"We don't have much at Greywater Watch, but we have enough to keep us happy," Lady Reed offered as they all took their seats. Gendry pulled a chair out for Arya, but with a huff of indignation, Arya took the seat beside it. Meera chuckled, and concealed her smile with her hand, as Gendry, resigned, took the seat he had intended for Arya.

"Your father used to visit us here," Lady Reed said, and Arya smiled. "Not for a long time though and never for long when he did. My Howland reminded him of happier times, I think."

Arya nodded. "Father didn't used to speak much about the past, but when he did he held your husband in high esteem," she said, as the food was served up. Arya searched warily for frogs, and was relieved to find none. Meera must have caught her expression and laughed.

"The mainlanders might call us frog eaters, but contrary to belief, we don't actually eat them at meal time," She chuckled, helping herself to some steaming soup. "Your brother used to be wary of us when we first met; I think he was worried that we might force him to eat frogs."

Arya grinned, and looked back to Lady Reed. "Is your husband here? Its just that I would very much enjoy asking him of my father in his youth," she asked, reaching for some bread.

Lady Reed smiled sadly. "I wish that you could, but my husband passed some time ago. He took sick, and died peacefully. I just wish that he could have seen his children one last time before he went," she said sadly, her eyes appearing slightly distant.

Arya sucked in a deep breath, and felt guilt pool in her stomach. Gods, why did she have to be so insensitive? Sansa would never have made the mistake, she thought bitterly. "I'm so sorry, Lady Reed, I did not realise. I say the most stupid things sometimes," she apologised, biting her lip.

Lady Reed shook her head. "No harm done, Arya, you weren't to know. I like to think that wherever he is, he's with Jojon, my son. I think they should both like that," she said wistfully. She snapped her head up a moment later, and smiled. "But there is no point on dwelling on that now. I always used to tell Howland that he needed to cheer up; he could be so serious sometimes. Jojon was the same, but my Meera takes more after me, I think," she smiled, reaching for her daughters hand.

Even once conversation had resumed normally, Arya still felt guilt gnawing at her, and strangely a sadness. Howland Reed had been one of her fathers best friends, and she had felt as though that somehow connected them, even though she had never met the man. She had always pictured him so great, wise and just, from the way that father used to talk about him. It was strange to think that the small man that had beaten Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had died just as any other.

Gendry seemed to notice her unease, and took her hand under the table, squeezing it gently. He didn't look at her, but Arya didn't need him to. It was strange to have someone comfort her; when had been the last time? Not for years, that was certain. It felt... nice. Safe.

The second the thought crossed Arya's mind something swooped in her gut, and she gently pulled her hand from his. He would think her weak for needing comfort. Because she didn't. She was fine, and she most certainly didn't need him... even if it had felt nice. Besides, that warm feeling in her stomach, that was dangerous. She couldn't let that happen, wouldn't let that happen. It was stupid to even entertain the notion. But even as she steeled her nerve once again, she missed the warmth of his hand holding hers.

"Lady Arya?"

Arya snapped her gaze back to Meera, and kicked herself; how long had she drifted off for? She scrambled for an answer, and came up short. "Yes?" She said, apologetically.

Gendry cleared his throat. "Meera was just asking if you were settling in with the Baratheon host yet," he said, quietly, his blue eyes holding hers captive.

Arya swallowed. "I, er... well- that is to say- I mean," She snapped her gaze back to Meera, "...yes?" Meera snorted, and Gendry looked away. Lady Reed looked amused by Arya being so flustered.

There was a slightly awkward silence, until Gendry cleared his throat. "Arya has actually agreed to train my squire. I think he's improved already."

Arya breathed in sharply; he thought she had already made progress with Jayce? She had thought he disapproved of her methods.

"Really?" Lady Reed asked, surprised. "I had of course heard that you were proficient with a sword, but I hadn't realised that you were a master."

"I'm really not," Arya protested, uncomfortable with all of the eyes on her, but Gendry cut across her.

"She's incredible, truly. Better than most. Even as children she showed a great aptitude for it- used to try and beat me up with sticks, even though I was twice her size and that many years older," he laughed.

"You knew each other as children?" Meera asked, intrigued.

Gendry nodded. "Yes, we left Kings Landing together. I was heading for the Nightswatch with thirty others destined the same, and Arya was fleeing the Queen. She pretended to be a boy called 'Arry. I believed her for ages, until we were captured."

"Gendry," Arya muttered, wishing he would stop, but he took no heed.

"I couldn't believe it when I realised; it seemed so obvious then, and I didn't know how I'd missed it. Not that Arya was pleased, she threatened me to keep my mouth shut about it," he laughed. Arya looked down at the table, a tension in her jaw.

"So what happened to you next?" Lady Reed asked, as interested as her daughter, all of them missing- or ignoring- Arya's discomfort.

"Well, we were attacked by the Queens men, but Arya and me, as well as a few others, escaped. Didn't make it far though, before we were caught by the Mountain," Gendry said bitterly. Arya clenched her hand around her fork. "They took us, and a whole load of other captives, to Harrenhal."

"To Harrenhal? However did you escape?" Lady Reed exclaimed in horror. Arya shot Gendry a warning look, but he either missed it or ignored it.

"It was down to Arya actually. Still don't know quite how she did half of it, but she helped some soldiers free a load of North men from the dungeons... only, it all got worse after that, when Roose Bolton left us to the Bloody Mummers. Arya knew we were in danger, and engineered an escape for us and a friend. She was amazing," he said, smiling softly at her, but Arya ignored it. He was walking dangerous territory- not that he knew that. Half of this story relied heavily on Jaqen H'ghar, and she couldn't ever let anyone find out about that.

"So how did you do it? Free the North men and escape?" Meera asked, leaning her chin on her hand.

"I, er, it was nothing," she stammered, wondering what she could say.

"No, go on Arya, you never did tell me exactly what went on when we were at Harrenhal," Gendry said, frowning, and resting his hand on the table. Arya clenched her hand more tightly around the fork.

"It was nothing, truly," she said, trying to dismiss the whole story.

"It can't have been nothing if Gendry is telling the truth," Lady Reed chuckled. "Please do tell."

Arya cursed in her mind. "Well, I had a friend, one I had saved when we were attacked the first time by Amory Lorch. He agreed to help me rescue my brothers men from the dungeons," she said slowly, hoping no one would ask any questions. "We tricked the guards, threw hot soup on them and killed them. Set the prisoners free. That's all there was to it," she finished, hoping that Gendry did not remember Jaqen. Mercifully, her answer was accepted, though Gendry appeared somewhat suspicious.

"And how did you escape after that?" Meera asked, entranced by the tale. Thankfully, Gendry took it up, sensing Arya's reluctance to speak.

"It was Arya again- she was brilliant. Told me and the other boy to gather supplies while she got the horses. We waited, not sure what Arya planned to do about the guard, and then she killed him, simple as that," Gendry smiled.

"How did you do it? You could only have been a child," Lady Reed asked, horrified.

"I tricked him into thinking that I was paying him for Lord Bolton. Flicked the coin on the ground, and when he bent to pick it up, I stabbed him in the throat," Arya muttered. Great, just great. Now Meera would go and tell everyone at Winterfell, and everyone would think that she was some psychopath.

There was a slightly awkward silence, and Arya stared bitterly at the table until Lady Reed cleared her throat. "You must have been very brave," she said, sounding choked up.

Before Arya could reply, Gendry nodded. "She is. The bravest person I know. And the smartest. She was always the one that made the decisions, made the plans. It should have been me looking after her, but it wasn't."

Arya shook her head. "That's not true, I wouldn't have lasted without you and Hot Pie. Not for a day." She caught his eye. "I'm not the bravest or the smartest- if I was, I would have gotten us out sooner. We wouldn't have been caught at all."

"You can't put that on yourself," Gendry insisted. "You were a child."

"So were you," Arya retorted, forgetting about their audience.

"Hardly, I was almost a man grown," Gendry snorted. "Regardless, its true that you are the bravest person I know."

"Stop saying that!" Arya snapped. "It isn't true!" Gods, Arya wanted to run, to leave, to climb into a boat and sail away.

"I think your betrothed knows more about you than you think," Lady Reed said kindly.

"He doesn't!" Arya said. "He knows nothing about me!" It hurt, but it was true.

"Oh, I'm sure he does, he's your fiancee after all-"

"He's not!" Arya snapped.

There was a short, and very awkward silence. Arya closed her eyes as she sighed, gritting her teeth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Arya is just joking," Gendry tried to reason, putting his hand on hers. "She's just tired is all, we've been riding all day-"

"I'm not tired, Gendry!" She snapped. "I wish that you'd just- gah!" She turned her head away in frustration, knowing that she shouldn't say it.

"You wish that I would what?" Gendry asked in a low tone, though he sounded loud in the silence following her outburst.

"I just wish that you would stop!" Arya burst out, regretting it the instant that she said it.

Somewhere, on the other side of the hall, someone dropped a spoon. It echoed and clattered on the floor.

"Stop what?" Gendry asked hotly, looking a mixture of hurt and angry. "Stop looking after you? Stop wanting you to be happy? Because that's all I want, Arya-"

"I don't need you to look after me!" She exclaimed. "I'm not a child!"

"Well you sure as hell act like it sometimes!" Gendry snapped.

And then suddenly, and she wasn't entirely sure how, Arya was striding out of the hall, while Gendry cursed behind her in pain as he pulled the fork out of his hand.

* * *

Arya didn't know where she was going. She had nowhere to go, they were on a fucking island. It was pitch dark outside, but Arya allowed her senses to take over and guide her through the maze of outside walkways that made up the crannog. Somehow the fog felt less oppressive at night.

When she reached the edge of the crannog, and could go no further, Arya sat on the edge, and put her head in her hands. Why had she said that? Why had he? A torrent of anger, frustration and confusion swelled inside of her, and for once, Arya just wished that she could scream her frustrations out. Or even better, stick her sword through someone. Anyone. For a brief moment, Joffrey's sneering face swam before her, leering at her, laughing, and Arya grabbed a stone and hurled it... but he was gone before the stone could cut through the air where he had once been. But even though his face was gone, Arya was sure that she could hear him laughing at her from behind the fog.

Arya pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw colours. When had all of this started? Was it when Jon brought her home to Winterfell? No, long before that. It always ended up back at her father, at his execution. The whole war, everything, it had only gone to shit from the second that Ilyn Payne chopped off her fathers head... but was that even the true beginning? Did it go back further than that? When Robert asked him to be hand, when Jaime pushed Bran out of a window, when Lyanna had a baby that wouldn't know his identity for more than twenty years? When Rhaegar chose Lyanna? Further than that, even? When Aerys killed her grandfather and uncle, when Aemon passed over the throne, further? Where did it all begin? It made Arya's head spin, because it always circled back around to her father.

If only. Her life had been filled with if only's. If only father hadn't travelled to Kings landing. If only Cersei and Jaime didn't commit incest. If only her father hadn't found out. If only she had understood what she overheard in the dungeons. If only her father hadn't been killed. If only Robert hadn't died. If only, if only, if only...

If only she hadn't burst out at Gendry in front of everyone.

What had she done? Why couldn't she just control herself, like everyone else? Was there something wrong with her? What if, after everything that she had been through, something had snapped inside of her? Arya knew that she wasn't rational. She was short tempered, and always just so... angry. At everything. She couldn't help it. It was as if her anger, and hatred for the world, was what had kept her alive.

And Gods, did Gendry make her angry. Furious. Half of the time he made her want to hit something, and the other half of the time it was him she wanted to hit. But... the anger she felt at him- it wasn't as hopeless. As full of despair.

And she had just stabbed him with a fork.

In front of everyone.

Arya closed her eyes, drew her knees up to her chest, and leaned against a post, letting the fog drift over her skin.

* * *

"I'm fine," Gendry said, swishing his hand in a bowl of water. The blood drifted away in little misty clouds, turning the cold water a faint pinky colour.

It was impressive the damage that Arya could do with a fork.

"Are you sure?" Lady Reed asked. "We have no maester here, but I'm sure that someone could find you a bandage or something."

Gendry chuckled, and dried his hand. "Honestly, I'm fine. I've had far worse, believe me," he said, and then sighed, turning back to her. "Unfortunately, Arya has too. It's why she's the way she is."

"She seems... intense," Lady Reed said, not unkindly. "So full of anger."

Gendry scrubbed his jaw with his hand, and sighed. "She was like that from when I met her, but she's worse now. She's seen many more things. But do you know what I found out, when we were children?" Lady Reed quirked an eyebrow at him. "She only lashes out like that when she's afraid."

Lady Reed swallowed, and sat down on a chair wearily. "The things that some children had to suffer during the war... unspeakable. It sounds as though your Arya is no different."

Gendry crossed the room and gave her a half smile. "Like many, she suffered things that no one should have to suffer... but I don't even know the half of it. No one does, not Jon, not anyone. But from what Jon did know, Arya saw things beyond our wildest imaginings." Lady Reed appeared stricken, and Gendry opened the door. "Thank you for the water, Milady. I think I had better go and find her now, before she hurts someone." And with that, Gendry left the room.

As he walked through the queer castle, Gendry felt a surge of shame. It was his fault that Arya had lashed out like that. He didn't know why he had told everyone about the people that she had killed. He had known that she wouldn't like it. When she had let go of his hand he had felt a rush of hurt and frustration, and he ignored her warnings to stop talking.

Of course she hadn't liked him talking about it. He had been able to feel her unease the entire time they had been there, and he had said it anyway. It was true, what he had told Lady Reed though; Arya lashed out like that when she was afraid.

So what had she been so scared of? Surely not just him talking about their past?

Gendry cursed as he stepped outside; he had no idea where she might be in this maze of crannogs and walkways. She could even have tried to take a boat and leave. Gendry doubted it. She was smarter than that. But how was he supposed to find her? With resignation, Gendry started off in the only place he thought he might find her: wherever was furthest from him.

When Gendry found her she was sat on the last crannog by the edge, leaning against a post. It was almost silent out, save for the lapping of water. Even the air was still. For a moment, Gendry just watched her; moonlight filtered weakly through the fog, distorted in the swirls of heavy air, but still it fell across her skin. She looked so similar to the night he had caught her fleeing Winterfell, except she was dry instead of wet, and instead of emanating a wild fury, she seemed to be the very embodiment of sadness. She reminded him of the song that said " _I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair"._

"Are you going to just stand there and watch me?" She asked, taking him by surprise. He had thought that she had maybe fallen asleep. He shouldn't be shocked though; after all, she was Arya.

Gendry swung his arms stiffly at his side for a moment, and then strode over to her, and sat down beside her. Neither said anything for a long time, and then Arya took his hand. Gendry watched her face silently and let her pick it up. When he understood, he held it up for her, so that she didn't have to carry the weight. She inspected the back of his hand, and the three small cuts from where she had stabbed him. Gendry watched her face with curiosity.

With a sigh, she let his hand drop into her lap, though she still held onto it lightly. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I shouldn't have done that."

Gendry nodded. "It's ok," he murmured.

"No it isn't," she said quietly, staring out across the water, which vaguely reflected the moonlight. The ripples reflected on her face in silver and black waves.

Gendry drew one knee up, the other dangling over the edge, his boot skimming the water. "No," he agreed, "it isn't. But I understand."

Arya swallowed, and didn't say anything for a while, though she idly began to draw patterns on the skin of his hand. He wondered if she knew she was doing it.

"I don't know why I did it," she confessed. "The truth is, I don't know why I do half of the things I do. They just seem to happen before I can stop them. I didn't even know I'd stabbed you until the fork was quivering in your hand. Sometimes I think that maybe I'm just crazy. Like all of the things that I've done have made me lose something of myself." She trailed off here, and Gendry thought that she must be thinking of something specific, something painful.

"After you disappeared that night, I searched for you for hours," Gendry said. He thought he heard Arya's breathing stammer. "It was like you vanished. We'd had that stupid argument, do you remember?"

Arya hummed in reply. "That old man wanted me to sleep with him and you protected me. Pretended to be my brother," she recounted.

Gendry nodded. "You said I wasn't your brother, and it hurt. I know you didn't mean it in that way, but at the time it felt like that. It wasn't fair of me to get so angry, you were a child- you probably didn't fully understand what had happened. I said something about sleeping with that girl, and you went off in anger."

Arya smiled a little bit, and Gendry thought he saw her white teeth gleam. "Did you?" Gendry cocked a brow for elaboration. "Sleep with her, I mean?"

Gendry blanched. "Ugh. No. And thank the Gods too, seeing as she was my sister." Arya chuckled at his disgust.

"Anyway, you stormed away... and I never saw you again. After you heard Beric and Thoros and left, they shouted for us to chase after you. I didn't know what to do. You were my friend, I didn't want to hunt you down and force you back, but I'd already been knighted," Gendry paused, remembering the turmoil he had felt. "I had hoped that you were just sulking in the stables, but you weren't there. When we didn't find you straight away, we got worried, eventually saddled up horses and rode out looking for you. Didn't matter in the end though, you were long gone by then."

Arya pushed some hair behind her ear, and then went back to stroking patterns lightly on his hand. "I hadn't really thought I'd get away. I was so angry I felt like I couldn't not try though. I was sure that someone would grab me before I even got to the trees, but... well, no one did."

Gendry watched her absently, noting absurdly that she had small ears. "The Hound got to you before we did, didn't he?" He muttered, still uncomfortable with the idea.

Arya looked up at him sharply. "You knew?"

Gendry shook his head. "Not for years. When we didn't find you I was sure it was because you were already dead. We searched for days, but never found you. In the end I gave in to grief, and drank it away. When I woke up I remembered very little, and I refused to hear what had happened; I assumed that they must have found your body somewhere, and I didn't want to hear it. After a while no one mentioned you again because it hurt too much. Beric and Thoros nearly drove themselves mad with guilt. Tom wouldn't sing any songs, he just plucked at his harp absently. Anguy didn't want to show me how to use a bow because it was he taught you. Harwin didn't say a word for days, and when he did it was only in simple answer. I think he thought he had let your father down." Gendry remembered the silence that had fallen over the band following her disappearance. It had been like a funeral, except there was no body to bury.

Arya didn't speak for a long while, and Gendry just stared out across the water. When Arya did speak he almost jumped. "When the Hound kidnapped me I wanted to kill him. I tried to, once. It didn't turn out well. I hated him, but I didn't miss the Brotherhood. I never trusted the Brotherhood, not for a moment. But the Hound... I knew that he wouldn't truly hurt me. He looked after me- in his own way." She looked out into the fog unseeingly. "I learned a great deal from him." And then she said what Gendry and never expected her to. "No, I never missed the Brotherhood... but I missed you. I might not have trusted the Brotherhood, but you were more than that. You had been there for me since the beginning. That was why it hurt so much when you chose them over me."

Gendry swallowed, his throat feeling tight. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I didn't mean to do that."

Arya was silent for a moment, and then squeezed his hand. "I know you didn't."

Neither of them said another word. Neither of them needed to, but their hands held each other and that was enough.

 **Well snap. Arya needs to learn to control her temper, and Gendry needs to chill. Sorry again for the late update, but I hope that you enjoyed it! As ever, let me know your thoughts, and the next chapter will be up soon!**


	17. Rocking the Boat

**DISCLAIMER:**

 **Me: I own nothing**

 **Rights: …Are you sure?**

 **Me: Pretty sure**

 **Rights:…..what about now?**

 **Me: STILL NO!**

 **Anyway, Arya and Gendry had a little heart to heart last chapter, I hope that was a happy read... I think? I hope so! Ok, seriously though, I have a little conundrum, because I have four pages of notes- in form of a nonstop flow chart- and I'm only 13 lines in so far... is that too long? I have quite a complex plan, and I always knew it would be quite long, but if every line is roughly a chapter and a half, and there are 34 lines per page, and four pages, that's what... 200 odd chapters? More? I don't know, I mean, I love super long fics, but you have to draw the line somewhere, right? I could always do it in parts, like three books for one story, but there isn't really a clear cut off point for that... what are your thoughts? A super duper long story, or three stories that are about 70 chapters long each? Because then wouldn't the three parts just be one story anyway? Idk, I'll probably just carry it on in one story unless anyone would prefer it in segments! Anyway, I'll just let you get on with the story; same drill as always, feel free to private message me your thoughts or drop a review, and I hope you enjoy! Over and Out xoxo**

The sunlight filtered weakly through the window, and Arya watched the dust motes dancing in the yellow rays absently, running her hand through them, allowing the soft warmth to wash over her skin. She hadn't slept that night, after Gendry and she had finally gone to their rooms.

Long after they had finished talking, the pair had sat in a comfortable silence, holding each others hands, and letting their silence do all of the speaking for them. It had been... relieving, to just talk to each other about the past. It didn't feel like it was some immovable object anymore, some great wall between them. It was strange how a few words could knock such an obstacle down.

Arya had never really admitted it to herself before, but the second the words had been past her lips, she knew that they were true. That the reason she had been so angry at Gendry in particular was because he had meant so much to her. After the Hound had taken her, Arya had been so angry at him, refused to forgive him for leaving her, but perhaps she hadn't been angry so much as sad. She wasn't sure, really. Arya had never been very good with emotions; other peoples feelings went beyond her, but her own... they were even more impossible, it seemed.

She had been surprised when Gendry sought her out; before, when they had argued, it usually resulted in one of them storming off, and later just pretending it hadn't happened as well as they could. But the fact that he had forgiven her was what truly shocked her. Gendry was as stubborn and obstinate as she was, so when he had sat down beside her and told her that he understood... it almost made her feel worse. Here she was, cursing him and stabbing him with forks, and there he was, telling her it was ok, and that he understood. Arya was never one to admit defeat, but interpreting emotions behind actions, emotions that weren't hatred or anger, that was beyond her.

The fog outside the window made it difficult to tell the time, but Arya assumed it to be early morning. She hadn't bothered lying in the bed, but had gone straight for the window seat, and hadn't moved. Beds were still an odd concept to Arya, and despite her time at home she found that she still slept better outside on the ground. It wasn't that it was some ingrained instinct in her to be ready to jump and fight at any moment- or not that much- but beds were just too... comfortable. It didn't make sense but there it was. Perhaps there was more to it than that, she wondered as she dressed.

Upon leaving her room, Arya found the castle quiet and still, meeting only the odd servant in the hall. She wasn't really sure what to do, to be honest. If there was no one else up then she couldn't exactly have breakfast alone in the hall, and what else could one do on a floating island? Arya sighed and turned around, planning on heading back to her room, when she saw Gendry closing a door behind her. He didn't see her at first, looked up and then back down, before pausing and looking back at her.

"Arya," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Did you sleep well?" He asked, slightly awkwardly, walking to her.

Arya gave him a quick smile. "About as well as you, I reckon," she said softly, taking in his slightly ruffled appearance; his hair was messy, and sticking up at the side, his boot laces hastily tied in rough knots, and his shirt all rucked up from missing out a hole in doing up the lace. "Here," she said, her voice rough from lack of sleep.

She reached up and smoothly undid the knot, untangling the string with her fingers, before re-threading it through the holes neatly and tying a neat stevedore knot. Her breath caught in her throat slightly when the tips of her fingers brushed his hot skin, so much more tanned than hers, his colouring more like roasted acorn and hers like cream and honey. Her hand rested there, on the top of his chest for a moment and then slid down the front of his shirt, pausing on his taught stomach. There was a sharp intake of air above her, and Arya realised how close she was to him, her forehead nearly touching his chest. She looked at him from the top of her eyes to see him staring at her in a mixture of surprise and bemusement. When their eyes met he coloured, and Arya stepped back sharply, blushing.

Gendry cleared his throat. "I, er, I mean- thanks," he said, not quite making eye contact with her.

Arya blinked, and pulled at her lower lip with her teeth. "The best knot for shirts is the Stevedore," she blurted out. "It doesn't slide loose..." she trailed off, confused as to why she was telling him that.

Gendry cleared his throat again, but the corner of his mouth pulled up slightly. "I'll remember that," he said with vague amusement. "So- breakfast?" Arya nodded, and they walked down to the hall, the silence palpable between them.

The hall was empty apart from a couple of maids who were finishing laying out a table at the top. Arya sat down in the seat she had the night before, and Gendry beside her. Arya hadn't really been hungry, but the food laid out smelled delicious, and the air was still chilly, so she reached for a jug of hot plum squash and a chunk of browned bread. The silence between them was easier now that they were both doing something, and it gave Arya chance to reflect on what had happened in the hallway...

Which was what, exactly? She had only meant to do up his shirt properly, but had it ended up meaning something else? She supposed she had just wanted to do something that wasn't awkwardly standing in silence, thinking about the night before. Or maybe she hadn't been thinking at all. This was all... completely confusing! Arya put her goblet down a little too hard, and was aware of Gendry raising an eyebrow briefly at her, but she ignored him.

Arya was a calculated person; sure, she could be a bit... rash sometimes, a bit reckless perhaps, but she took calculated risks. She wasn't used to any sort of display of emotion, apart from anger perhaps, so what was happening to her? And even more importantly, why had she felt something warm settle low in her belly when her fingers brushed his skin? It was all very confusing to say the least, and Arya wasn't sure that she liked it.

"So," Gendry said, rubbing his hands together to create warmth. "Jon said that he found you beyond the Wall?" He asked, reaching for an egg.

Arya finished her mouthful. "Yes," she answered shortly.

Gendry looked at her, and ducked his head a little awaiting explanation. When it was clear he would not get one, he prompted further. "Why were you there?"

Arya shrugged. "Had nowhere else to go," she said. When he tilted his chin at her she sighed, and shifted slightly in her seat. "It seemed like a good idea. I'd been as far across south as it got, and as far east as any man has ever been- I wanted to see what was as far north as it got. Where else did I have to go, anyway?"

Gendry appeared startled, but regained his composure quickly. "Jon mentioned that you had been to a lot of places," he said casually, though he watched her carefully, his face measured.

Arya clenched her jaw, and felt a spike of anger. "Jon shouldn't have said anything," she bit out, taking a bitter swig of her drink, and swirling the cup around until the fluid made a small whirlpool.

"Why not? I asked him," Gendry said. "So where have you been? Other than the North?"

Arya swirled the cup faster, watching the red liquid spin. "Around."

"Yes, but around where?" Gendry probed.

"Just around!" She snapped, putting the cup down harshly on the table. The drink stopped violently, and a small amount splashed over the side, before oozing into the wood. "It doesn't matter," she muttered.

Gendry sighed. "I just want to know where you've been all this time. I thought you were dead," he said, his voice tight.

"A lot of people thought I was dead," Arya retorted. "They were all wrong."

It was the truth, after all; people had forgotten her existence from the second that her father died- the only people that hadn't had assumed she was dead anyway. Arya was used to it, people not knowing who she was, and that was precisely how she had stayed alive- besides, how could anyone ever claim to know her when she didn't even know herself? If people didn't know her, then they could never be that close, and when they died or left it was that much easier to bare.

But while the answer was, for Arya, nothing more than the truth, a flash of anger crossed Gendry's face. "How can you just say that?" He demanded. "After what I told you last night? Because like it or not, Arya, whether you're 'Arry or Weasel or Arya of House Stark, or whoever else, you mean something to people. _To me,_ " he said, his voice growing louder and faster as he spoke. Arya's hand froze still, and her throat contracted. "I told you how I felt when you disappeared- is it so ridiculous that I want to know where you've been?" His striking eyes bore into her own, commanding but pleading in one.

Arya swallowed, and felt the muscles at her temple clench and un-clench as she grit her teeth. "No," she said slowly, "But I don't understand why it matters so much. There is no point in talking about it now, and no matter how much you want to move on, there's no point trying, because believe me, you can't." Arya hadn't been aware that she planned on saying that, but the second the words spilled out of her mouth in a hurried mess, sadness hinted in Gendry's eyes. Arya turned her head away, and shut her eyes briefly, trying to ignore the look on his face; she hated it, and for some reason that Arya didn't understand, it was particularly bad to see it on his. Arya knew that she needed to leave before she said something that she regretted.

She span on the bench, raising one leg over and then the other, so that she could stand up. Gendry looked up at her questioningly, and Arya gave him a thin lipped smile. "I ought to go and check on Jayce," she explained, checking the knife on her belt just to give her something to do instead of look at him. Her eye was drawn back to him as he stood up next to her, climbing slightly awkwardly over the bench.

"I'll come too," he said, staring down at her. Arya crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She wasn't some simple girl that needed an escort everywhere that she went.

"Gendry, I can look after myself," she sighed, irritation evident in her voice, and jutting her chin out.

Gendry nodded. "I know," he shrugged, "but I'll still come." He stared into her eyes as if daring her to argue with him, and Arya recognised the look on his face; that he wouldn't change his mind, no matter what she said. Arya tried anyway.

"For God's sake, Gendry, it's not like I can't row a bloody boat!" She snapped. There was no way that he would let her row if he came too, and it made her uncomfortable to just sit back.

The corner of Gendry's mouth twitched, and he copied her stance, crossing his own huge arms over his chest, the leather jerkin straining over his muscles, and creaking with the movement. "I'm sure that you can, but what kind of a man would I be to let my sweet lady go out alone?" He gave her a smirk, and Arya narrowed her eyes, before a small idea came to her mind.

She slowly let a small smile spread across her face, and looked at him from underneath her eyelashes. Gendry looked surprised, but predominantly- and quite correctly- suspicious. Arya walked closer to him smoothly, making sure to sashay her hips, as she had seen whores do before when trying to attract customers. Gendry's eyes widened almost comically as she placed a hand on his chest, and blinked at him, still smiling. Arya saw his breath hitch in his throat, as she angled her face up at him and sighed softly through her slightly parted lips. His breathing quickened a little as she slowly ran her hand up his chest, as she had done earlier, and as he began to lean down, quick as a snake, Arya twisted the fabric of his shirt in one hand and yanked his head down, whilst grabbing his knife in the other and pressing it to his throat.

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, before he narrowed them in frustration at being tricked so easily. Arya snarled. "If it is a Lady you want, go and propose to my sister." And with that she pushed him violently backwards, and while she was sure that normally he would have barely even noticed her attempt, he was already unbalanced, and her violent shove sent him crashing backwards into the bench. He swore and made to brace his hand against the table, but instead knocked over a jug of wine. Arya smirked and span on her heel, chin thrust out, and strode of down the hall, leaving Gendry staring at her with a mixture of annoyance, admiration, and just a little bit of infatuation.

* * *

Though the fog still hung low over the lake, it seemed lighter to Arya, and the bright sun overhead filtered through weakly. The boats swayed and rocked gently on the water, bumping lightly against the docking posts; the sound evoked memories of Braavos, and the time she had spent there. The weeks she had spent selling clams and cockles on the docks, the night walks she had taken under the stars to the soft lapping of the sea. The sound was oddly comforting.

She was aware of Gendry walking up the pier behind her as she untied a boat, the wooden planks creaking beneath him. Arya admitted that there were many disadvantages to being small, but at least she was much harder to detect. When he stopped behind her she ignored him, going about pulling the sheet off of the boat and coiling the rope in silence. She was about to climb in, when Gendry's hand appeared by her side. She pursed her lips and turned around, expecting to see him wearing a smug expression, but instead he was looking down at his belt and securing his sword, as if he hadn't really thought before offering a hand.

Arya waited until he looked up, to see if she was ready, and then spoke. "I don't need you to come," she said again, clearly, watching his ice blue eyes for a response.

Instead, Gendry rolled his eyes, and puffed out, causing his hair to ruffle. "Just get in the boat, will you?" He said, stepping forwards. Arya narrowed her eyes and climbed into the small boat, ignoring his hand completely. Gendry rolled his eyes again, but the slight pull of his lips hinted at amusement. He stepped in after her with ease of long legs, though his weight made the boat tilt dangerously to one side, and lurch a second time as he sat. Arya searched under her seat for the oars, twisting around backwards to find them. Nothing. Creasing her eyebrows she looked up, and then back down for a split second before it clicked in her brain. Sighing tensely, and biting her lower lip, Arya tilted her head as she watched Gendry smugly grab the oars from the dock where she had left them.

"What, you thought I would let you row?" Gendry laughed, as he placed the oars in the axles. Arya frowned and crossed her arms. "Oh come on, you could barely wrap your hands around them, girl," he hooted, reminding Arya of the time Arya had talked about Septa Mordane.

" _I don't sew very well, I mean. Septa Mordane used to say I had a blacksmith's hands." Arya said, chewing her lip._

 _Gendry hooted. "Those soft little things?" he called out. "You couldn't even hold a hammer."_

 _"I could if I wanted!" she snapped at him._

"I so could hold a hammer," Arya muttered, pulling up a splinter from the edge of the boat.

Gendry looked up as he pulled the oars back. "What was that?" he asked in confusion, with a furrowed brow.

Arya blinked, having not realised that she had said it aloud. She cleared her throat. "I didn't say anything," she said, lacing confusion into her own voice, and shrugging.

Gendry raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you did," he argued stubbornly, "you said something about a hammer."

Arya blushed slightly, wishing his hearing was not as good as it evidently was. "I was thinking about that time, with the Brotherhood, when you said that I had soft hands and could never hold a hammer," she explained, wondering if he would remember. _He never thought you were capable of anything, even then,_ a snide voice in her head said.

Gendry let out a hoot of laughter as he yanked the oars back again. "I remember," he said, surprising her. "You were worrying about your brother not wanting you back, because you were bad at sewing." He stopped as if considering something. "I wasn't wrong though, about your hands." He hitched the oar into its axle and raised his free hand, spreading his fingers wide.

For a moment Arya didn't understand, but as his nod at her hand she slowly smiled. She used to do this with Jon and Robb as a child. She lifted her own hand and placed it against his; her fingers barely touched the top of his palm. The difference in their skin was somewhat intriguing for Arya; his was so much more tanned, and his hands calloused and rough. Hers were a creamy white, and though she had callouses under her fingers, smooth and soft. Not like Sansa's- her sister rubbed oil of rose on hers daily, and it left them feeling like silk.

Gendry grinned and curled his fingers over hers for a moment, before pulling away and taking up the oar again. Arya could still feel the heat of his skin on hers; it was a nice feeling, she admitted reluctantly to herself, but the thought was odd and she dipped her hand in the green tinted water to get rid of it. Gendry raised an eyebrow again.

"Are my hands sweaty?" he teased, his white teeth glinting through the crack of his lips.

"No," Arya said, slowly smiling. "I just wanted to do this!" And before he could realise her plan she flicked her hand out of the water and sprayed him with droplets that she had collected in her palm moments before. Gendry's eyes widened and he tried to duck, but to no avail, and the icy spray caught him in the face. He swore and gave her a highly angry expression, but the pond weed that hung off his left eyebrow rather ruined the effect, and Arya burst out in uncontained laughter, rocking forwards on her plank. After a moment she paused and looked back up, but his highly affronted expression sent her breathless with laughter again.

When her breathing finally slowed and she was able to sit upright, it was just in time to see Gendry swoop one huge arm through the water, and send up a considerably larger spray of water that poured over Arya, despite her raised arms. The water was freezing and Arya gasped and blinked it out of her eyes, before she looked up, trying very hard not to grin, though she panted in disbelief.

Gendry was leaning back on his plank, looking very pleased with himself. Arya narrowed her eyes. Game on.

The boat ride seemed considerably shorter in the day time, and Arya and Gendry docked with the sun still high in the sky. Even from the shore, Arya could hear the sounds of camp, and could almost see the havoc of people still hazy with sleep, feeling damp from sleeping on the dewy grass, and in severe need of a warm drink. Arya nearly smiled- she knew the feeling well.

The boat ride had left Arya confused once again; she hadn't laughed like that in a very long time. Not such uncontained hysteria like that, the kind that left you breathless with an aching stomach. She wasn't supposed to be enjoying his company. She was supposed to be showing him, and everyone else, how much she detested the idea of marriage- hells, though she knew why her brother did it, she was still fuming at Jon for the entire thing. So why did she find herself enjoying the time she spent with Gendry? It confused her, and every time that she thought about it, Arya felt a small pang in her gut.

She and Gendry pushed the boat ashore, one on each side, soaking their breeches in the process as the water lapped around their legs. Arya scowled to see that Gendry was dry from half way up his calf- she was soaked well beyond that- still not dry from the wave he had soaked her with on the boat. She would get him back for that.

The host was not so far from the water edge, just a few minutes walk away. It felt strange to be on solid land again, and as Arya stretched her legs she noticed Gendry doing the same.

The camp was alive with bustle and havoc, as Arya and Gendry navigated their way through lean to's and tents, and fire pits. Arya made her way, Gendry at her side, to the area where the horses were tied up. Astrid was at the end of a row of horses, and Arya didn't fail to notice that she was beside Gendry's own enormous horse.

She walked over to the grey mare who nickered softly as she saw Arya, and stroked her slightly dished face. "Hey girl," she cooed gently, rubbing the horse's long jaw. Absently she wondered where her wolf was; Arya hadn't seen Nymeria in days, though it didn't worry her. She had found the she wolf with a pack of others, when she ventured North. Beyond the Wall Nymeria never went that far, but when Arya came back with Jon, Nymeria had ranged farther and farther away, preferring silence and solitude to the castle and then the host.

As she patted her horse, Arya saw Jayce running over to her, with something clasped in one hand, grinning triumphantly. When Arya made out what it was she let out a bark of laughter, causing Gendry to jump and turn around to see what she was laughing at.

"M'Lord," Jayce said, giving him a funny little bow.

"Jayce, you look, lively. How's ca-" Gendry started, but Jayce had already moved past him to present Arya with a fat grey rabbit. Gendry appeared affronted, and Arya had to stifle a smile as she took the rabbit, weighing it in her hand.

"I caught 'im, just like you told me to," Jayce said quickly, smugness oozing out of his every pore. "Does that mean you'll teach me now?" His eyes were wide with hopefulness, and Arya bit her lip to refrain from laughing, partly because of the indignant looks that Gendry was sending her from behind Jayce at being ignored by his squire.

"I did say I would, didn't I?" Arya smiled, handing the rabbit back to the boy. "How did you get him?"

Jayce seemed to puff up with pride. "I watched them all last night, by their warren. So I snuck out early this morning and waited quietly by a bush behind a hole, and when it came out I snagged 'im and broke his neck," he recounted, puffing out his chest.

"Well, mayhaps you could cook him for lunch," Arya said, wondering if the boy knew how to skin a rabbit properly. "Come on then, lets get to a lesson. Put him away somewhere safe- where the dogs won't get him- and I'll meet you on the eastern edge of camp- bring those broom handles," she said, and he smiled and jogged off.

Gendry twisted around as the boy ran past without acknowledging him, and then twisted back around to Arya, a mock offended expression on his face. "What was that?" he asked, gesturing blindly in the direction the squire had gone. Arya grinned and shrugged.

"I'm clearly a much better leader than you," she said, turning back to Astrid, who had gone back to munching some hay.

Gendry stepped closer to her, and leaned one hand on Astrids wither, leaving Arya between him and the rail. "He's supposed to be my squire, not yours," he said, jokingly, though still indignant about being ignored by the boy that had once revered him. Arya smiled softly, still stroking the mare. "Did you see that little blush? If he gets anymore fond of you, I'll be forced to do something," Gendry said, mock angry.

Arya felt her eyes widen in shock at his proclamation, and stared at him. He caught her expression, and smirked. "Can'tr have you running off with my squire, now, can I?" He said. Arya rolled her eyes.

"Yes Gendry, because I'm so likely to run off with a fourteen year old stable boy, aren't I?" She said sarcastically.

"Well, he is only two years younger than you," Gendry said, and Arya froze. He was right- Jayce was only two years her junior. The idea was so strange- he seemed so young to her, and she felt so old around him. Gendry noticed her discomfort, and stood up a little straighter.

"What's wrong?" He asked defensively. "Has he actually said something?" A flash of something dark passed through his eyes, and Arya waved him off.

"No, it's not that," she said, still slightly uncomfortable. "But I just realised that I'm closer to him in age than I am to you," she explained, before glancing up at him.

He made no reaction for a moment, and then tentatively asked, "does that make you uncomfortable? That I'm- seven?- years older than you?" He looked genuinely curious, though she could see from the harsh set of his shoulders that he anticipated her answer.

Arya wondered for a moment. It was a strange thought. She supposed it was a bit strange; when the were on the run, though she considered him her equal, he must have thought of her as a child the whole time, a little girl that he protected.

"No," she said, "it's just strange I suppose." She turned around, to see that Gendry was a lot closer than she had realised, and felt heat spread across her face. She could feel his warmth emanating through his clothes, and unconsciously breathed in his scent; he smelled like steel and leather and sweat, and something that Arya couldn't quite put her finger on. She looked up, to see him staring at her intensely, his blue eyes darkened by shadow. Her breath hitched in her throat as he stepped closer and placed a finger under her chin. She clenched her jaw and swallowed, and she saw his pupils dilate. For a moment, just a moment, Arya wanted him to lean down further, come closer... but this was dangerous territory for her, and not the kind that she could fight with a sword.

Arya lifted her head from his fingers, and stepped away, clearing her throat. That couldn't happen again, she told herself, no matter how... nice, it felt. "So," she said, tilting her head towards the direction that Jayce had ran, "I'd better go meet Jayce, he's likely already waiting." Gendry said nothing, but continued to stare at her with an odd look in his eye. Arya chewed her lip and side stepped him. "I'll see you later then. Meet at the boat?" He nodded, and Arya span on her heel, walking off to where she had agreed to meet Jayce.

On the way her head span, and she massaged her temples as she manouvred herself in and out of the hastily put up tents. What had that all been? Him moving closer and touching her face, her wanting him to- what, what had she wanted him to do? She had never experienced that before, and she could still feel the heat spreading on her cheeks and in her gut. Why on earth had she smelled him?! She didn't know, but the memory made her cringe. He must think her absurd- not that she cared what he thought about her, obviously, she thought.

"Gah!" she said, exasperated at herself. She couldn't afford to get too comfortable around the boy... though he clearly was no boy now, but a man grown... she almost smacked herself, thoughts like that were not going to help her! She had to stay focused. She was not going to do anything that could result in actually wedding the stupid bo-man.

Jayce waited for her at the edge of camp, just where she had told him to be, throwing a yellow rock in the air and than hitting it as far as he could with the broom handle. Arya smiled, and tucked away her confused feelings as she approached him.

Gendry stared after her as she walked away, her hand raised to her temple, as if in confusion at what had just passed between them. She wasn't the only one. He hadn't meant to get so close, hadn't realised until she turned around and looked up at him through those eyelashes. Hells, he could even smell her, and feel her warmth. When she had looked away he hadn't been able stand it, and lifted her chin just to see them, dark grey and full of ice and fire.

He had felt cold when she pulled away, and had wanted to grab her by the waist and pull her close to him, to bend down and steal a kiss... but he hadn't. He had simply watched her go, hips rolling as she walked. In truth, Gendry didn't know what had come over him; perhaps it was the idea of Arya being with anyone else that wasn't him... even Jayce. Even just thinking about it filled him once again with jealousy and he found himself clenching his fists.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind him. Gendry turned around, and saw Anguy behind him, one eyebrow pulled up high, and a cheeky smile gracing his lips. Gendry stretched his fingers and swung his hands slightly by his side as he walked over to the lanky archer. Gendry knew from experience that the man was stronger than he looked- not as muscled as many, but built like barbed wire- he had to be to pull the string of that longbow back as he did.

"What was that I just saw- getting a bit closer with the girl, are you?" he asked with a smirk as they made their way through the camp.

"She's no girl anymore," Gendry admitted, remembering the roll of her hips as she walked away, and how her hair danced down her back in waves.

"Aye, she ain't," Anguy said, looking over his shoulder to see her disappear around a corner and behind a tent. Gendry sent him a dirty glare, and Anguy held up his hands. "I'm just saying, she ain't the little girl that couldn't pull my bow anymore. She's a force of nature, that one," he said, grinning.

Gendry sighed and shook his head as they ducked under a tent flap. The rest of the brotherhood were in the tent- if you could truly call it that; it was more like a canvas draped over springy wood, with one side open. Lem sipped at a wooden cup from a log, his feet stretched towards a fire just past the open side of the shelter. Tom leaned against a second log, strumming idly at his harp and tapping his foot, and Harwin was scraping mud off of his boot. Greenbeard was sharpening his sword, and Jack-be-lucky was chewing on a piece of dried out rabbit.

Anguy cleared his throat as he sat down on one of the logs. "Alright men, our very own Lord Baratheon is having some serious troubles, who here can help him out?"

Gendry whacked him lightly over the head as he passed, and sat down, sighing.

"What's the problem lad?" Lem asked, rubbing his many times broken nose- Gendry recalled Arya having caused one of them. "Talk to old Lem."

Gendry rolled his eyes.

Arya watched Jayce jog back to camp and shook her head at his behavior, wondering if her own brothers would have been like that in another world. No, she didn't think so. Perhaps Jayce was just... special. He was already better at practice, and Arya could picture him forcing the other stable boys to practice with him. He was quick, and had good reflexes, and Arya smiled to herself as she walked back to camp in the slightly dying light. He would be a great swordsman one day, if he kept at it, better than many.

The air was beginning to go cooler, and raised the hairs on her arms, though Arya didn't mind; she was determined to enjoy it while she could- the South was unbearably hot, and Storms End was about as far south as it got before Dorne. She was not looking forward to it in the slightest.

Upon reaching the boat, Gendry had not arrived yet, but Arya just shrugged. They hadn't specified a time, what with being so... distracted. Her cheeks grew pink at the memory, and she decided to go and do something rather than just sit and wait for him.

Men sat around campfires, where rabbits and fish and pheasant cooked on spits, and Arya was tempted to join them, her stomach rumbling at the smell.

She walked over to one circle of men, and asked where she might find Lord Baratheon. The man she had directed the question to stuttered and pointed to a large white tent in a more secluded part of camp. She thanked him and walked in that direction, wondering if it might just be better to wait for him at the boat. She hesitated, and then shook herself. Who cared if someone saw her finding him? To everyone else they were betrothed, after all. As she approached the tent she could hear voices behind, and huffed when she recognised them as the Brotherhood.

Out of curiosity, Arya snuck around the side of the tent, and listened through the dirty canvas, wondering what he could have been talking about for so long; she had been training with Jayce for at least three hours.

"You're worrying yourself over nothing, lad," said a voice that Arya thought was Greenbeard. "She was a little girl at the time, and more over she was already gone. Why even tell her if it worries you so much?"

Arya pressed a little closer, not caring that she was listening in to something that wasn't meant for her ears. She heard someone sigh, followed by Gendry's voice. "I know, I know, but she was asking yesterday, and she's bound to ask again. You know what she's like with questions."

His reply was followed by a hoot of laughter. "Aye, well that's true. Little minx never stopped with the bloody questions," laughed... Jack-be-Lucky? Arya wasn't sure.

"Even if she doesn't ask me, she's bound to find out from someone else," Gendry protested, and Arya wondered what they were talking about. For a moment she thought she ought to leave, or pretend she hadn't heard and enter through the front, but then Anguy said something that drew her back.

"Forget it for a moment, I have to ask- what exactly did happen?" His question was met by sighs and chuckles.

Gendry seemed to pause before answering, and Arya held her breath. "I don't really- well, I certainly do remember," he was interrupted by laughter and whistles, and Arya smiled. "-but I don't know how to say it. I was just so... overwhelmed, by everything- finding out who I was, seeing one of my family's castles- I'd never seen such finery, and no beautiful Lady had ever offered me wine before without asking me to pay," Arya frowned; there was a woman involved in this? Maybe she shouldn't hear this... she listened closer. "The room was hot and the wine was strong, stronger than any I'd ever had. So when she dropped her robe to the floor I just... well, you can imagine."

"Aye, that we can, but go on anyway," Tom teased, and Gendry exhaled with exasperation.

"I'm sure you know how it works you old lecher. We ended up on the bed, and I couldn't believe that this extraordinarily beautiful woman seemed so... I don't know, eager for me. She smiled with those sharp teeth, flicked that red hair, and I was done. And so we carried on, you know..." he trailed off, and Arya detected guilt in his voice, assumed that it was because he felt bad for sleeping with...

As the thought clicked, Arya felt a flash of jealousy, and clenched her fists. It shouldn't be a surprise; Gendry had almost been a man when they met. But still, she ground her teeth together in anger. She didn't know why it made her so cross- it wasn't like she even planned on marrying the man. But even when they were children- or rather, when she was a child- she had thought of him as hers. She had been so angry when he threatened to fuck that girl, Belle- even though it wasn't like it was something she wanted to do, or even fully understood.

Arya wished that she knew who this woman was; Gendry had said she was an unbelievable beauty, and for a moment she couldn't help but picture Sansa... she shook her head. Stupid- Sansa had never even met him. Arya took a deep breath to calm down, and strode purposefully back to the boat, knowing that if she didn't calm herself she would do something regrettable.

Somehow the camp didn't feel so enjoyable and happy as she walked back through it, chewing her lip, and the happy bustle seemed like a wall of people watching her storm past. Arya raised her chin up and squared her shoulders, ignoring Jayce when he smiled at her.

The shore that they had docked the boat on was grey stones and mud, and Arya kicked a soggy clump of it into the water, where it hit the surface with a wet splatter. For a moment Arya considered taking the boat back alone, and leave him at camp... but instead she sighed and sat down on the small wooden planks that made up an almost pointless pier, swinging her toes in the water.

It was irrational to feel so... angry? Angry about this. Arya knew that, but she couldn't help it, and though she knew it was ridiculous the picture of Gendry kissing a girl that looked like Sansa kept flashing across her vision. Of course he liked girls like Sansa, proper ladies with dresses and soft skin. What was it he had said to her once, when Lady Smallwood had dressed her up?

 _"You look different now. Like a proper little girl."_

 _"I look like an oak tree, with all of these stupid acorns."_

 _"Nice, though. A nice oak tree."_

A proper little girl. Proper. What she was supposed to be, a perfect little lady like Sansa. But that wasn't what bothered Arya, no- she was used to that, and cared little of what people thought of the way she dressed. But he had called her a little girl. True enough, she had been only ten at the time, but she had killed more people than he had. Was that all she would ever be to him- a little girl, playing at being soldier? She didn't care a jot, if he didn't love her that way, she told herself, because she most certainly did not think of him that way... but what if he didn't take her seriously? No one ever took her seriously, everyone thought that she was just going through a phase.

Fury bubbled in Arya's stomach as she rolled his words over in her mind. If Gendry just thought that she was a silly little girl then why did he even bother with taking her so unwillingly south? He had said that he wanted her for her, but Arya doubted it. The whole situation confused her, frustrated her to the point of just pulling out her hair. Arya jumped up and whipped the knife from her belt, and flung it at one of the rotting wooden posts, where it thudded with a slightly wet squelch as the blade parted the soggy splinters.

"What did that post ever do to you?" Said a voice as its owner emerged from the trees. Arya didn't even look at him but yanked her knife from the post and secured it in her belt.

"Mayhaps I wish it was someone else," Arya said shortly, moving towards the boat.

Gendry grabbed one side of the boat and they pushed together in tandem, until it bobbed in the water. "And who could that be?" He asked, climbing in awkwardly while Arya settled on the plank.

"What if I wished it were you?" Arya replied icily, moving to take the oars before Gendry could snatch them up. She slotted them neatly into the axles and took up a firm grip on them, noticing with frustration that Gendry had been right in predicting that her hands were too small to properly hold them. A flood of humiliation hit her and she felt like a child trying in vain to impress an older sibling. She grit her teeth and pulled at them, straining when the water resisted her, though the boat moved off successfully all the same.

"Do you?" Gendry asked dryly, and Arya could feel his eyes on her as she took another pull. "Wish that you could stab me?"

Arya snorted. "Frequently," she answered, refusing to look at him as she pulled at the oars. It was harder than she had expected; she had been in rowing boats before of course, but not on a still lake with the additional weight of a second very large person.

Gendry didn't comment, and Arya focused on making smooth strokes, careful not to crab the water. "Arya, why don't you let me-"

"I can do it!" She snapped, though her arms already ached. Grudgingly she acknowledged that she was not built for heavy pulling, but she wouldn't admit that to him.

"I never said you couldn't," he said with exasperation, "but we both know full well that it would save a lot of hassle if I did it. Besides," he added when Arya ignored him, "what would my men think if I let my Lady row the boat?"

Arya ground her teeth together audibly. "I'm not your lady," she snapped, not sure why she was arguing with him about it again. A splinter pinched at the side of her hand, and she hissed, bracing her feet against the bottom of the boat. She had pulled the boat about thirty yards from the water edge when Gendry next spoke.

"Arya, what's all of this about?" Gendry asked, sighing. "I haven't said a thing and you're already threatening to stab me."

"Fuck!" She cursed, as the splinter snapped off in her skin. Her grip loosened momentarily on the oar and it slipped from her fingers. It would have clattered through the axle and splashed into the water had Gendry not flashed forward and caught it just in time. He set it carefully into place on its hook, and then guided the other from her hand without a word, before sitting back in his seat and regarding her carefully.

After a moment Arya shifted in her seat, picking aimlessly at the splinter. "I'm not some child."

"No," Gendry agreed, "you're not. What's all of this about?" He watched her carefully from his end of the boat, his elbows braced on his knees. Arya looked up briefly at him, and then away, chewing her lip.

"Hey, hey," Gendry said, leaning forward. "Look at me." Arya shook her head, half considering jumping overboard and swimming away. Slowly, Gendry reached forward and took her chin again, tilting her face up to look at him properly. Arya halfheartedly tried to pull her face away, but Gendry's hand guided her back. "Tell me, Arya, what brought this on," he ordered firmly.

Arya watched his face for a moment, taking him in, the strong jaw and five o'clock shadow, the straight nose and thick black brows, currently pulled together as he assessed her. "I'm not a child," she repeated. "I don't like it when you treat me like one."

Gendry appeared taken aback by her answer. "When have I treated you like a child?" He asked, sliding his hand down her cheek a little in surprise. It sent tingles down Arya's spine.

"Just... all of the time!" She burst, turning her head away. "And Jon, too. You always tell what to do, and disapprove when I do anything else. You always have someone watching me and following me around when you can't, and when you do it's... suffocating!" A flicker of hurt crossed his face, and Arya felt a pang of guilt but ploughed on, the words spilling out. "And I know that you don't mean it like that, but it feels like you think I'm just some silly little girl that you have to do everything for."

Arya held her breath as she waited for his reply, his face an open book. After a moment he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is this because of earlier? With Jayce?" Before Arya could protest he sighed, and looked at her deeply. "I don't think of you as a child, Arya. Truth be told, I used to feel stupid around you because you made all of the plans and you were a tiny girl and I a man grown." His admission surprised her, and it must have shown on her face, or he smiled a little. "I wanted to be the one looking after you, and would have if you'd let me. If I have treated you like a child then I'm sorry, but I only do it because I want you to be safe." Arya made to protest, but Gendry held his hand up and didn't stop. "I know that you can look after yourself, but the roads are more dangerous than you think; I refuse to let anyone hurt you." He stopped there, and watched for Arya's reply.

Initially she felt irritated by his need to protect her- she could look after herself and he knew it. But perhaps... Arya wondered if it was more for him than her. His need to feel like he was keeping her safe, not her need to be protected. It still rankled, but she couldn't criticize him for it.

Arya pursed her lips, and nodded. She felt a smile pluck at the corners of her lips when he visibly relaxed. "I'll forgive you on two conditions," she said, holding up two fingers. Gendry tilted his head. "One," she put one finger down, "you stop sending people after me when you think I don't know about it."

At her words Gendry's face darkened, though he seemed reluctant to agree. "Arya, what if you went off and someone snuck up on you, someone my size? You said it yourself, you don't really know how to use a full sword properly."

"I can use one well enough!" She argued. "That's my first condition." She watched him carefully, her face straight.

Gendry groaned and put his head in one hand, before running his fingers over his hair and mussing it up. "Ok, I'll agree," Arya smiled but he shook his head, "but with my own condition." Arya narrowed her eyes. "You let me teach you how to use a full sword properly."

The effect was immediate. "No!" Arya said loudly. "No way!"

Gendry leaned back and shrugged, looking unbothered. "That's my condition. If you want me to stop having you followed then you'll let me teach you how to fight properly."

Arya opened her mouth in frustration and then closed it again. Ugh, it was the same feeling as when Jon had mentioned it; it just felt so... patronizing. It twisted in her stomach uncomfortably... but if it meant he was willing to stop having her guarded...no, not even then. "What if I can just go a little ways away when I wanted?" Gendry opened his mouth to argue but she cut across him quickly. "Not far, but... far enough that I can be alone." She stared him straight in the eyes and saw his resolve crumble slightly.

"Fine," he conceded, "but, only if you ride with me, instead of behind me like some prisoner." He had his jaw set in determination, and Arya sighed, knowing that she would never win without agreeing to something. Besides, it wasn't too much of an ask, she supposed. She nodded once, and Gendry smiled with satisfaction. "Now, what was that second condition you'll forgive me on?" He asked, standing up to take the oarsman place.

Arya grinned. "This," she said, with just enough time to watch the confusion, and then suspicion, on his face. With a lightning fast movement, Arya tipped the rickety boat, just enough for Gendry to lose his balance, and then shoved him as hard as she could. With a half finished curse, Gendry plummeted backwards and into the water, the look of shock still upon his face.

Arya did not even have time to laugh before he resurfaced, his hair sticking to his forehead, and grabbed her around the waist. "I told you yesterday that if you pushed me in I'd take you with me," he grunted as she resisted

"Don't you da-" She began to say, just as he pulled her protesting over the side, causing the boat to capsize. The water was icy and Arya gasped as it instantly soaked her through to the bones, before Gendry, who still had hold of her, one arm around her waist and the other around her thighs, laughingly dragged her beneath the water.

Arya opened her eyes, her lips closed tight, to see Gendry all but grinning at her through the water. His shirt drifted slowly upwards, revealing his toned and muscled stomach. Arya could feel her hair floating loosely around her head, and kicked her feet to stop herself from sinking further down, her legs tangling with his in the process. Gendry's arms were still wrapped tightly around her torso and thighs, so that she was higher than him, her hands braced on his wide shoulders.

A bubble escaped Gendry's mouth, and then another, and they pulled up to the surface, beneath the capsized boat, breathing heavily and laughing wildly, still tangled together. After a moment they calmed down, and Arya stared down at his face, his icy blue eyes. The water was freezing, but Gendry was hot and his arms around her kept her warm. The smile slowly fell from his face as he stared back at her, their faces only inches apart. His breath was hot on her wet skin, and she could feel his heart beating against her. His hand travelled up her back slightly as he leaned his face towards her, his eyelids heavy and eyes dropping to her lips, slightly open as she exhaled the frigid air.

His lips were only centimetres away from hers, tentatively pressing closer until Arya was sure she could feel them already, and in that moment something froze deep inside of her, and just before his lips could connect with hers, Arya pulled back suddenly with a laugh, before kicking free and pushing him down into the water. Once again, he had no time to wipe the surprise off of his face before he plunged below the icy depths, and before he could grab her, Arya swam underneath the boat, and Gendry resurfaced alone.

 **Oof guys, that was a long one! *pheeew* Arya and Gendry are getting closer it seems! Anyway, apologies again for a late update, everything has just been a little bit crazy at the moment. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, feel free to go ahead and let me know what you think. Next time we get to see a little bit of Meera and a couple of other bits that I hope you like! Until then, Over and Out xoxox**


	18. Breath in and Count to Ten

**DISCLAIMER: I still own nothing, rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Dia dhuit readers (that's hello in Irish!), I hope you enjoyed the last chapter- it was the longest so far; twenty six pages! So just to re cap, Arya and Gendry had a couple of 'moments', and Arya overheard a conversation that was not for her to hear! I wonder what will happen next... dunn dun dUnnN! Seriously now, I'm aiming to get this chapter up by Friday, which is generally the day I aim to update on- I apologise again for late posting, but I have been super busy with exams! Anyhoo, hope you like this new chapter, let me know your thoughts via PM or review, they help a lot to let me know what you all think! That's all from me, Over and Out xoxox**

The wind whipped through the trees mercilessly, howling across the sea in a fury befitting the Gods. A mile east lay the small village, where men, women and children stayed indoors, huddled around fires, and sealing up the windows with wooden planks to keep out the chill. A half league west of the bay at Cape Kraken, a ship was docked, the boat tossing on the violent waters, the wood creaking as each new attack hit the sides in angry gusts. The sailors, however, were experienced men, and handled the storm with ease of practice, tying the knots down tight and securing the sails firmly as the wind cracked and whistled above them, snatching their hair and clothing in a manner of aggression.

While the men battled it out on deck, below the wind found no refuge and the cabins were warm and sheltered. Despite the rocking and the shouts of men above, the room was silent, as Euron Greyjoy regarded the Frey boy with his one eye. Euron leaned back in his chair, with his boots on top of the desk, a steel cup of ale in his hand, his fingers drumming continuously on the wooden top. In contrast, the Frey boy appeared queasy, his pale skin tinged green, the wispy hairs on his upper lip quivering. The boy was clearly not a sailor. Euron snorted; any man that was no good on a ship was no man at all, and this one... well, he was no man at all, but a boy pretending to be a man. The boy was tall, that was true, but there was little else to him, neither brain nor brawn. Not that Euron was complaining; it just made everything all the easier for him.

The second that the cunt had started voicing his claim on the Stark bitch, Euron had seen the opportunity. The girl was about as important as any could ever be, what with being the Kings sister, and according to the boy sat before him, betrothed to House Frey- not that Euron cared about that. The Frey's always were a worthless bunch, but they had a name and that was more than enough for Euron. Besides, he wanted to see the Stark girl again; she had made him a lot of money the last time he saw her, and he had the feeling that she would again.

After the War for the Dawn, as the singers had taken to calling it, the Iron born had been shunted back to their solitary islands; the only reason that any had been allowed to live at all was for the part they had played at the end of the war, and so it had been decided for them that they would not be punished so long as they returned to the Iron Islands effective immediate.

Well, that didn't sit well with Euron.

He had always been a short tempered man, that he would admit, and the idea of some mainland bastard shunting them off got his blood boiling. Not that it mattered, of course. He may be short tempered and reckless, but Euron Greyjoy had a plan.

After all, the iron born weren't the only ones that were unfairly treated following the war- no, the Wildlings had also been betrayed, forced back behind the Wall. They had been granted amnesty if they took part in the war, had been given land in the Gift, but the Nightswatch still forced them to leave again, and the Crown had done nothing to protest, their reasoning being that the Wildlings had been unlawful, attacking and reaving and raping- they sounded like Eurons type of people. But to the main lander's, it was unlawful, and so they were sent packing.

Oh yes, you could certainly say that Euron had a plan. He wasn't stupid; he knew full well that should the iron born rise in rebellion they would be crushed... but with the Wildlings on their side? Well, they were notoriously skilled warriors, and Westeros was still weak. Still, they would need all the help they could get, so who was Euron to turn down whatever the Frey boy had to offer?

"My Lord," the boy, Elwin or Elbar or some other cunt name, said in a weasel like voice, but Euron cut across him.

"What do you want, boy?" He said, taking out a dagger from his belt, and fingering the tip delicately. The boy stared at it and swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing.

"I think we can both help each other," he said, puffing out his skinny chest. "And it's Lord Frey," he added.

Euron snorted. "Lord of what? You have no lands left. But I'll humour you," he said, still looking at the blade. "How do you think that you can help me, Lord no lands?"

The boy swallowed again, still looking queasy from the ships lurching from side to side. "Well, as Lord _Frey_ ," he said, "I have some power left." Euron snorted, but the boy battled on. "No matter how my family name has been dragged through the mud, it is still a prominent house. Whoever murdered my family was a murderous traitor, and all the kingdoms know it. I may not have any lands just yet, but if you help me get what I want, I can help you."

Euron pretended he didn't already know. "And hows that?" He wanted to see what the boy would say.

"You want a way in," Frey said, leaning forward. "You want a place to land your ships and your army. So happens I know the perfect place." Euron waved his hand for the boy to carry on, bored by his prattle. Perhaps he would save himself the trouble and just kill him... no, he'd listen to what he had to say first. "Storms End."

Euron laughed, and kicked his feet from the table. "Storms End?" The boy nodded. "Tell me, Lord no lands- are you stupid or reckless?" The boy opened his mouth to protest. "The Stormlands are ruled by the new Lord Baratheon, as I'm sure you know, seeing as he's fucking your betrothed." He watched in satisfaction as the boys face tightened.

"The Storm Lands are weak," Frey said. "They have a new Lord with no experience, their lands are under constant attack by raiders, and my betrothed is to be the Lady of Storms End. You want a way in? Attack somewhere near enough to the Storm Lands, with just a couple of ships, just enough to be a threat. Draw out Lord Baratheon; he'll leave to fight and leave Arya Stark at Storms End. Get me there and I'll marry her. Lord Baratheon will die in battle if we are lucky, and then I'll inherit Arya Starks titles- and Storms End. If we aren't lucky, Baratheon will live and come back to a castle that is under siege and the full power of the iron born, with nothing but an army that has just fought one battle at his back."

Euron sighed, bored. "And?"

"And then I can give you safe passage through the Storm Lands, and a secure place in the main land for your army." The boy looked very pleased with himself. "There are people that already support my claim to Arya Stark; they'll support you too."

Euron almost rolled his eyes- how old was he? Sixteen? Seventeen? The people who supported him were few and far between... but it could be useful. Even if they were few, they were people that were against the Crown; they could help spark rebellion. Stupid and weak as the Frey boy was, he had his merits, Euron had to admit it.

He placed his elbows on the table. "If I help you get the Stark girl, you swear that you'll help us?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "I will, My Lord, I swear it."

Euron stood up, and walked around the table, twirling his knife nimbly in his fingers. "Good. Because if you don't... I'll kill you." A flicker of fear ran through the boys eyes, just before Euron slammed the blade down through his hand. Blood began pouring out immediately, and the boy screamed bloody murder, as he attempted to wrench the knife from the table.

Euron placed his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet. "Besides, I'm not your Lord. I'm your King. Make sure you address me properly next time, boy." He span on his heels merrily and left the room whistling in time to the boys screams.

* * *

"The iron born?" Gendry said loudly, standing up. "At Cape Kraken? That's not far from here."

Greenbeard stood before him in his chamber, his face serious. "Aye, and it's only yesterday that we heard about it. They could be a few days ride from here by now, if they are aiming to attack."

Gendry turned to face the window, and rubbed his face. A scout he'd sent out to keep an eye had discovered that Elmar Frey was meeting the iron born at Cape Kraken, and had ridden for Greywater Watch immediately. Thoughts reeled through Gendry's head at an alarming rate; what reason would they have for meeting, other than to discuss rebellion? Jon would need to be told straight away. Cape Kraken wasn't far from where Elmar was last supposed to have been spreading dissension.

Gendry looked out of the window, to see Arya and Meera readying a boat to go and visit camp; they had left just before Greenbeard arrived to tell Gendry the news. Arya and Gendry had not spoken since the day before and the incident under the boat, except to say good morning at breakfast. Gendry watched Arya for a moment, as she lifted something down into the boat, her dark hair shining in the sun. She couldn't hear of this; who knew what Arya would do? Most likely she would sneak off somehow and try to go and kill the Frey boy, and Gendry would not let that happen. If Greenbeard was right, and they were meeting for a reason, they could be anywhere between Cape Kraken and the other side of Greywater Woods.

Gendry watched as the girls climbed into the boat and started off across the lake, before turning around to Greenbeard. "Arya will hear nothing of this," he said firmly. "I want her watched every minute of every day; no one that is not Baratheon goes near her. Whenever I am not able to watch her myself, someone else will, and they'll do it whether she threatens to stab them or not. I'll not have her harmed."

Greenbeard nodded. "I'll make sure that the others know. What do you plan to do?"

Gendry grabbed his jerkin and yanked it on. "We'll send a raven to King Jon, and another to Kings Landing- they must know immediately. Get someone that you trust absolutely to write the letter. For now, however, we'll follow the girls to camp, make sure that Arya doesn't go off wandering. When we get there, we'll send out a further thirty scouts, to keep an eye on anything going on, whether its ahead of us of behind us." He strode to the window just to check how far the girls had gone. "We move on in three days."

Greenbeard's eyes popped. "But we planned to leave next week!" He exclaimed, following Gendry from the room. "We'll need at least three days to prepare!"

"Then we'd better start preparing soon then," Gendry said firmly. "I won't put Arya at risk by staying longer than necessary- I want to put as many miles between us and them as possible."

* * *

"When do you plan to journey back to Winterfell?" Arya asked, tossing an apple lightly in the air and catching it again, as Meera inched forwards down the water, her breeches rolled up to her knees. The two had sailed across the great lake in the early hours of the morning, with the aim of fresh water fishing.

Meera didn't take her eyes off the water as she answered, moving through the bubbling river with silence. "Sometime at the end of the month, I suppose," she said lightly. "I miss Bran, of course I do, but when I'm at Winterfell I worry for my mother. She's not young, and I fear that losing my father took rather a toll on her." Arya nodded in understanding; it must be terribly lonely for Lady Reed, out on the crannog.

Just as Arya was about to ask what it had been like to grow up there, she saw a silvery flash of fins, but before she could say anything, Meera had swiftly plunged her three pronged spear into the water, and moments later held a wriggling fish on the end in triumph. She smiled and plucked it squirming from the tongs, and tossed it to Arya.

"I suppose I also miss home, when I'm at Winterfell," Meera continued, as if she had not just caught a fish with a large fork. "It's not that I don't like Winterfell, I do, but Greywater Watch is home. At Winterfell I miss it here- miss this, the fishing, the sailing, the fog. I want to enjoy it just a little before I leave North bound." She looked at Arya with a small smile. "I imagine you'll feel the same soon enough," she said as she speared another small fish.

Arya looked up abruptly from the leather bag that she had stuffed the fish in. "What makes you say that?" She asked, blinking.

Meera shrugged as she waded further down stream, keeping perfect balance over the slippery rocks. "Well, when you live down south. Even if you come to love it there, you'll always miss it at Winterfell. My father used to tell us stories about the real Northmen," she said casually. "He said that the true Northmen could never belong anywhere but the North. He said your uncle Brandon was one of them, and your aunt Lyanna." She stood up and regarded Arya for a moment. "I think you'll be the same; I don't think you'll ever settle anywhere else. Too much wolf in you." She turned around and went back to spying for gleaming scales.

Arya watched the girl curiously from where she stood on the bank. Meera's words struck something in her, like suddenly remembering something that you meant to do. Not the part of her being too wolf to ever settle; that was plain to see for anyone that met her, but her mention of Arya's impending move south- that struck her. She had never really considered it much beyond the heat she would have to endure there, but she hadn't really thought that she would be there for long, hadn't considered the possibility that she might stay there. There would be no silent forests or windswept grasslands, no summer snows or frost on the glass in the mornings. In place there would be only burning heat, waves beating noisily on the cliff face and rich farm land. Arya wrinkled her nose at the thought; she had never payed much attention in her geography lessons as a child, but she remembered enough to know that the south was not for her.

Arya had found that Meera's company was easy and the girl was up for a laugh, and over the last few days Arya had taken to spending more time with the girl... partly to avoid the awkwardness that lay heavy in the air around Gendry. After that moment, under the boat, neither had been able to look each other in the face without blushing for more than a few seconds. Despite her best attempts, Arya still did not understand what had happened, and as such, preferred to pretend it hadn't ever happened, something that was difficult with Gendry sat next to her at meals.

Arya was brought out of her thoughts by a quick flash of silver, though she managed to catch the fish one handed before it hit her in the face. Arya shook her head a little, and looked up to see Meera smirking at her.

"Dreaming about your betrothed, were you?" She teased, hopping lightly from the river. Arya scowled as she thrust the fish into the leather bag. Meera rolled her eyes and chuckled as she bent down to roll down her breeches. "Don't look at me like that," she said, sitting on a rock to pull on her boots. Arya cringed as the leather rubbed Meera's still wet skin; that was something she didn't miss. "I had to call your name four times, and you still didn't reply. So what were you thinking about?"

Arya shrugged, moving to perch next to Meera, placing the sack between her feet. "Nothing really," she said, toeing a pebble with her boot. "Just about how much I'll miss the North. I imagine Bran told you about my... reluctance in regards to this betrothal?"

Meera laughed as she ran her fingers tightly down her laces, green water oozing out. "He didn't need to- I heard all sorts of stories about you, so the second I heard I had a feeling that it didn't go down well. So what, you don't like the man?"

"No," Arya admitted, "It's not that. I just don't want to be wed to anyone at all, and things with Gendry are... complicated." She supposed that was true enough; things were complicated with him.

"How so?" Meera asked curiously. "He obviously cares for you a great deal."

Arya creased her brows. "What makes you say that?" Had he said something to her?

Meera smiled and picked up a sharp edged stone to scrape the mud off her boot with. "Just the way he looks at you. When we're at meals, outside, wherever, he always keeps one eye on you. Like he can't bare to let you out of his sight. It's sweet."

Arya scowled again. "It's annoying, that's what it is. He never lets me do anything alone, it's a real pain in my ass." Despite their agreement that he wouldn't have her guarded all of the time, Arya had noticed that he still made excuses for her to not go off alone. In camp the day before she had wanted to go for a walk in the woods, but Gendry said he had promised Jayce that she would meet him for a lesson- a lesson that Jayce knew nothing about. The day before that Arya had wanted to take a spare bow and go hunting, but Gendry had insisted that she go instead with Anguy, and then they could shoot more game.; when Arya had refused, Gendry seemed more relieved than anything. Even that morning, when Arya stood up from the table, Gendry had asked where she was going and who with.

Meera shrugged. "Maybe, but it still shows that he cares about you. All men are like that, as annoying as it may be, and your betrothed is more man than many." She stood up abruptly. "We ought to head back, we've got plenty of kill-"

"You call that kill?"

Arya jumped up and drew Needle from her belt, where it was strapped alongside Dark Sister. Meera grabbed the discarded bow from the ground and had an arrow knocked in an instant. When Arya saw the offender she sighed sharply, and put Needle back in her belt.

Anguy raised his hands in mock surrender and approached them confidently. "I come in peace," he said with a grin.

Arya curled her lip. "We nearly _cut_ _you_ to pieces," she snapped, pushing a strand of hair from her face with impatient fingers. Meera lowered her bow and looked to Arya.

"You know him?" She asked, nodding at Anguy.

"Unfortunately, yes," Arya said curtly, eyeing Anguy with distaste. She still hadn't quite forgiven the ex brotherhood members for holding her ransom.

Anguy swaggered closer, his thumbs looped through his belt. "Well that's no way to behave, little lady," he said. He turned to Meera and bowed his head. "Ser Anguy, Milady. Apologies if I startled you." Meera nodded in acceptance, while Arya crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

"Why are you here?" she asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. She could think of one reason why, and if she was right that reason would find himself with another fork in his hand.

Anguy gave her a look, as if to say did she really need to ask. Arya snarled; she was right. "I'm going to kill him," she said, grabbing the leather bag.

"Woah, woah-" Anguy stepped in front of her, hands held out slightly. "No need for that, Princess- he just asked me to get some game for supper tonight, something to thank Lady Reed." He smirked a little. "Though he did also mention that if I were to come across you two lovely ladies then I should stick with you."

Arya felt a snarl rip it's way from her throat. "He swore to me he would stop, but he's only gotten worse!" She ground out, snapping her teeth together in frustration.

Anguy tilted his head and shrugged. "Well, you can't blame the man, not with everything," he said flippantly.

Arya narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?" she asked suspiciously.

Anguy's eyes widened, and he plucked at his bow string nervously. "Nothing, Milady, just that what with you always going off, the mans bound to worry about you." Arya watched him scrutinisingly; in Braavos she had learned how to read lies in many different ways. Some people looked to the left. Others stammered. Others still swallowed- Bran used to look at his feet. Anguy may be a talented archer, but he was no different to any other man- when he lied the left corner of his mouth twitched.

Before Arya could question him further, Meera cleared her throat. "Well, I'm going to head back to camp; I want to send Bran a raven, and we don't keep many at Greywater."

Anguy's face relaxed at the distraction, and he smirked, crossing his arms across his chest with a small flourish. "I'm not surprised, Milady," he said in a light tone. "You don't want to be shown up by a proper hunter. Go on, you take your little fishies back to camp, I'll go and take down a deer," he teased, slinging his bow over his back.

Meera rolled her eyes and didn't rise to the bait. "Come on Arya, let's go- I want to actually be able to see what I'm writing."

Arya, however, hadn't taken her eyes off of Anguy, who smirked at her, eyebrows lifted in challenge. "You go, Meera," she said. "It isn't too far from here to camp, you'll only be ten minutes."

"Aren't you coming?" Meera asked, looking suspiciously at Anguy.

Arya shook her head. "I won't be long," she said reassuringly, before turning back to Anguy. "Just long enough to show up this idiot." Anguy only smirked at her challenge.

* * *

It was high afternoon when Gendry saw Meera return alone. The camp was in a ridiculous state of havoc, preparing to leave on the morrow. Fire pits were being covered unless they were essential for that night, and the larger tents being taken down and loaded unceremoniously into the wagons. Gendry's demand to leave a week early had been met with disbelief, but Gendry didn't care, so long as they put as many leagues as possible between them and the iron born.

Gendry had sent Jon a raven the morning he had found out, recruiting Tom O'Seven to write for him. He still needed to learn how; he trusted few people to do it for him, and Davos was back at Storms End. He would have to ask someone to show him his letters when they arrived.

When he saw Meera, Gendry's heart skipped a beat; Arya was supposed to be with her. He had sent Anguy out to keep an eye on them, but what if there had been some sort of attack? Anguy was one hell of an archer, but a bow could only do so much. Gendry quickly checked Meera over, to see any signs of a fight, and calmed when he saw none.

He strode over to her, where she was standing near the raven cage, penning out a letter. When she saw him she straightened and smiled. "Lord Baratheon," she greeted, "I hope you don't mind, I was just sending Bran a letter."

Gendry shook his head. "No, that's fine," he said dismissively, "But where is Arya? She was with you wasn't she?"

Meera gave him a short look. "Don't pretend, Gendry," she said, returning to informal address, "you did send Anguy after us after all." Gendry pursed his lips; Anguy wasn't supposed to have revealed himself.

"Where were you?" He asked, his body tense.

Meera narrowed her eyes. "At Greywater Woods," she said, causing Gendry's heart to speed up again. "It's alright, they're just in some silly competition about who's the better hunter."

Gendry clenched his jaw- what was Anguy playing at? He knew the situation, how could he be stupid enough to challenge her- unless she challenged him? Gendry grit his teeth together; why, why did they both have to be so stubborn?

"Meera, would you mind telling Lem that I've gone to find them, if you see him?" He asked tersely.

She appeared taken aback, but said she would, and Gendry strode off to the horses, fuming. If something had happened Gendry would kill Anguy. The fool was his friend, but he went too far. When he got to the horses he saw Jayce, and beckoned him over.

"What do you need, Milord?" Jayce asked enthusiastically, a piece of straw stuck in his hair.

"I need you to tack up Rogue, as fast as you can," Gendry said, checking his sword.

"Is something wrong?" Jayce asked immediately. "Can I come?"

Gendry regarded him for a moment, and then nodded once. "If you're quick, yes- have you got a horse?" Jayce nodded and ran off, and not ten minutes later the two were mounted.

"Where are we going?" Jayce asked, swinging his leg forward and tightening the girth from the saddle.

Gendry spurred rogue on. "To go and find Lady Arya, and perhaps murder an archer," he answered darkly, before urging the black stallion forwards, his brows furrowed in anger.

* * *

"I'm just saying, little lady," Anguy teased, "don't be too disappointed when I beat you. After all, I've been shooting since before I could walk."

Arya clucked her tongue. "That may be true Archer, but I could only practice as a child, once on a blue moon, when no one else was around, and I'll still beat you." They had walked about a league into the woods, where you could barely hear the sound of camp rushing to prepare to leave, and they had bickered most of the way. Arya still didn't understand why they were leaving early, but when she asked Gendry he just shrugged and said that he wanted to get back on the road.

Anguy let out a bark of laughter. "I bet that you couldn't even hit that tree over there," he said, pointing at a particularly warped elm. Arya narrowed her eyes.

"Better," she said. "I could hit the knot in the trunk. Give me your bow," she said, holding her hand out. He passed it to her with a smile, and Arya remembered how he used to let her practice when the brotherhood held her hostage. The bow had been far too big for her then, and she hadn't even been able to pull the string back. She remembered how he had fashioned her a small one, with a spare bootlace and a rod of springy wood. She wondered if she would be able to pull back the bow now.

It didn't feel so large anymore, but it was still far too big; Anguy was tall, if not anywhere near as tall as Gendry, and built like barbed wire. She positioned herself and took the string, pulling it back as far as she could. The string was taut and tough, and took every ounce of her strength to pull it back to her chin. She breathed out, and let the string go. The arrow flew forwards, and lodged itself in the middle of the knot. She smirked at turned back to Anguy, who scowled.

"You still aim too long," he said, taking the bow back, and Arya almost smiled. That was what he used to tell her, before. "Besides, it was a lucky fluke," he said, causing the smile to drop immediately from her face.

She pulled the knife from her belt. "Is this just a lucky fluke as well?" She tossed it lightly in her hand, and then threw it with her whole weight, without looking away from Anguy. She didn't need to look to know it had stuck, just like when she had done it with Jon; Anguy's face said it all. Smug, Arya turned to see where the knife had stuck, but instead saw that it was not the knife that made his face freeze, but rather the person stood beside it.

Gendry sat scowling on his horse, glowering darkly at them, from beside the tree, not a metre from where she had thrown the knife. He grabbed the knife from the trunk, and rode to them, his face one of pure fury, Rogue snorting and stamping his foot.

"What," Gendry said in a dangerous tone, "do you think you are doing?" He didn't dismount, but stayed where he was, glaring down at them. His voice sent a chill down Arya's spine, and she swallowed, suddenly understanding why people feared him- not that she did.

"We were practicing," she snapped, "which I'm sure you already know seeing as you keep having me followed." She glared daggers at him from the ground.

Gendry's brow pulled even lower, his jaw set rigidly. "I have you watched because I don't want you to get hurt-"

"I can take-" Arya began, fury swelling in her stomach, but Gendry spoke over her, his voice deep and full of anger.

"I don't care if you think you can look after yourself, Arya!" He snapped. "What if I had been someone else, someone who wanted you hurt?"

Arya scoffed, and crossed her arms. "If I wanted to hurt you I would have by now," she hissed, just as another horse came crashing through the trees. Arya knit her brows together in confusion, until she recognised the rider. "You brought Jayce?" She asked incredulously. "What if there had been an attack- he wouldn't have been able to defend himself!"

Gendry curled his lip. "So you admit there could have been an attack?" Arya set her jaw, and Gendry shook his head in exasperation, before looking to Anguy. "And you- what the fuck, Anguy?"

Anguy swallowed. "Apologies, Gendry," he said, "We were just having fun. I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't,"Gendry snapped. "You never do. Now, you and Jayce will stay out and you will get that fucking deer for Lady Reed, like I asked you to- not to goad Arya into some stupid competition."

Anguy bowed his head. "I'll get one, I swear," he said. "But it was my fault- I was the one that challenged Arya, not t'other way 'round." Gendry nodded at him, and then looked back at Arya.

"Get up," he said shortly, offering her a hand. Arya ignored it fuming, and Gendry growled. "Arya for fucks sake, just get up. I'm not in the mood."

Arya clenched her fists, her face flushed with anger. "I'd rather walk back," she snarled.

Gendry pursed his lips. "No," he said firmly. "I will not let you walk back alone. Just get up, will you?"

Arya threw her hands up in exasperation. "Why are you so... obsessive?!" She exclaimed. She glared at him, and he glared back, his hand still held towards her. Arya groaned and put her palms to her forehead in frustration, before striding over and placing her hand in his. In one smooth movement he hauled her up behind him, and turned the horse around the second she was settled, leaving the other two behind. Arya scowled as she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist to stay on, forcing her to press against his back.

Gendry urged Rogue to trot, and Arya clung on tighter, taking her wrist in her other hand. The rode a distance at trot for a time, before Gendry slowed the horse to walk. "Would you rather sit in front?" He asked tensely. Arya didn't reply, and Gendry sighed. "Arya, I'm sorry that I got angry, alright? I know that I promised to give you a bit more freedom, and I have done the opposite of that, and I apologise, but do you trust me?"

Arya chewed her lip. "I do," she admitted, and it was true. She had always trusted him, ever since he scared off Hot Pie and Lommy for the first time. She felt him exhale in relief at her answer, and she contracted her arms slightly around his waist. "I don't understand, Gendry," she sighed. "One moment you say you don't trust me not to run, and then you say that you do trust me, and then you set people to follow me everywhere- what's going on?"

Gendry tensed at her question, and then sighed before answering with hesitation. "Elmar Frey met with the ironborn not too far away. I found out a couple of days ago." He seemed to wait for her reply with agitation, but Arya didn't see why he was so worried about it. Elmar Frey had no power, and neither did the iron born, not really.

"That's why you wanted us to leave as soon as possible," Arya stated, confused as to why it worried him so much. He nodded, and Arya hesitated before asking, "is that all?"

Gendry jerked in the saddle. "Is that all?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "Is that all?! Do you know what they would do if they caught you?" Arya opened her mouth, but Gendry answered his own question before she could. "They would carry you off somewhere and rape you, over and over, before Elmar Frey forced you into marriage! Don't you understand?"

Arya tried to stop herself from saying it, but failed, regretting it before she even finished saying it. "You and Jon are forcing me into marriage," she pointed out. The effect was immediate; Gendry jerked in the saddle and halted Rogue abruptly, causing the stallion to snort in protest.

"And you think it's the same?" He said loudly. "You think that I would drag you down the aisle and rape you over and over again?"

"Of course I don't," Arya said, confused by his anger. He seemed to relax at her reply, and urged the horse on again.

After a couple of minutes Gendry spoke again. "I don't know what I would do," Gendry admitted in a tight voice, "If someone did that to you." His voice was strained and she could feel the tautness of his every muscle, almost trembling with strain. "I'd kill them a hundred times over."

Arya snorted. "You wouldn't even get to kill them once," she said, "seeing as I'd have killed them before they even did anything." It wasn't something that Arya was worried about to be honest; when she was a little girl on the run, yes, but she had become so adept at avoiding that sort of thing that it didn't seem a huge concern to her. Besides, she would kill anyone that tried; people underestimated her, and she knew how to use that to her advantage. She was, after all, a trained assassin- but Gendry didn't need to know that.

However, instead of reassuring him, her words seemed the wind him up further. "That's exactly the wrong attitude, Arya!" he snapped over his shoulder. Arya rather got the feeling that the issue was a big one for Gendry. "Have you ever seen it? Rape?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Because I have, and no matter how good a fighter you are, you wouldn't be able to fight off a whole group alone."

Arya scoffed. "I could," she said confidently. It wasn't like she hadn't before- it was almost insulting that Gendry didn't assume that. Again, it appeared that she had said the wrong thing.

"There you go, again," Gendry said darkly, "insinuating that you've done these things before- is it any wonder that I want to know where you've been?" Arya sighed, and banged her forehead lightly against his back. This was clearly the wrong time to argue with him; something had him in one of his moods.

Arya hesitated before speaking. "You said that Elmar Frey met with the ironborn?" she stated. He nodded. "Who is it that is in charge of the ironborn now? All of the Greyjoys are dead." Last she had heard, they had all perished in the war- Theon had died protecting Bran, and his sister, Asha, had died protecting hiding children. Arya had thought they were the last of the Greyjoys.

Gendry shook his head. "The uncle, Euron, is in charge. He disappeared for a while, and then just appeared again. Styles himself King of the Iron Isles." Arya tensed at the words- Euron, Euron Crows eye? Arya had had no idea he survived the war. The last time she had seen him... Arya despised him. It was a shock to hear he lived; he had been on her list, but she had taken him off when she heard he was dead. Arya felt like she had had the breath knocked out of her, like someone had tipped a bucket of ice cold water over her head, and shivers ran down her spine; just hearing that he was breathing sent waves of fury through her entire being.

"Arya?" Gendry asked, having felt her tense. "What's wrong?" His voice was laced with confusion at her reaction.

Arya breathed out tersely through her nose, clenching her fists tight against Gendry's stomach. "I thought he was dead," she said harshly, itching to jump off the horse and hit something, anything.

Gendry looked over his shoulder at her as well as he could. "Yeah, loads of people thought that, but why are you so angry at him in particular? Just because he's a Greyjoy, or because of something else?" Damn him, damn him and his ability to come to conclusions so quickly. "You know him, don't you?" he asked suspiciously.

Arya nodded once. "You could say that," she said, her voice tight. She had thought it was over, her list, finished before she went beyond the Wall. She had killed them all, or they had died already. But Euron was alive, and that meant her work was not finished. She could feel the familiar feeling, already planning out scenarios in which she could kill him. She had whispered his name along with the others, every night, and it seemed that she would be whispering it once more.

"What do you mean?" Gendry asked. "How do you know him? You were lost when he was around during the war."

Arya swallowed; he would have to know at some point, if not from her he would doubtlessly hear it from the Greyjoy cunt himself... if she told him now perhaps he might be less liable to suspect her later on of keeping secrets... she took a deep breath. "You fought with Jon in the war," she started. "you'll remember Euron's attacks on the Reach, how he would take prisoners and then sail them to Essos and sell them."

Gendry nodded. "Yeah I remember- I wasn't fighting for Jon yet, but I remember hearing about it."

Arya licked her lips. "I was one of the slaves," she said calmly. "I was taken and sailed to Meereen. Euron didn't recognise me though, and I thank whatever Gods are up there for it." Gendry had tensed even further in front of her and Arya pressed her forehead to his back. She didn't want to think about it, not now... "You asked if I ever saw rape? I saw it half a hundred times the day I was taken."

Gendry said nothing for a long while, his body turned to stone, and when he did speak chills ran down her spine. "I'm going to kill him," he said in monotone. "I'm going to find him, and I'm going to kill him, I'll rip his last eye out, I'll open him from navel to throat, I don't care how, but I'll do it." His breathing grew heavier and faster, and he slid off of Rogue and onto the ground, his hands raking through his hair. Arya had expected him to react, but she didn't know what to do, what to say.

"RARGH!" Gendry yelled, flinging Arya's knife at a tree, where it sank to the hilt; Arya was impressed- she never got them to stick that far. Gendry stood there heaving, and Arya suddenly felt very small sat alone on his horse. He turned around to face her, and before Arya could say anything he grabbed her and pulled her down, crushing her to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm sorry. Gods, I'm sorry." Arya stood there in his embrace, unsure what to do. Comforting was never her forte. Slowly she wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her face into his chest, inhaling his scent.

When he pulled back he left his hands on her shoulders, keeping her at arms length. He studied her face, which she kept a blank slate. Arya remembered how everyone always told her that she was easy to read, her thoughts and feelings displayed to the world in her eyes. She had learned how to get rid of that in Braavos. A blank face told no lies and no truths. But Gendry seemed to see something there in her face, his brow pulled low over his sunlight on ice eyes.

"How?" he asked, his throat raw. "How did they take you?" His voice was rough, whether from yelling or from pain Arya didn't know.

She chewed her lip; she had said enough for one day. "Not now, Gendry," she said firmly. Gendry opened his mouth, but Arya shook her head. "I'm not saying not ever, just not now. I don't want to think about it." Gendry regarded her carefully and then nodded.

"Alright," he said quietly. "But just tell me this- were you hurt?"

Arya creased her brow. "Of course I was hurt, Gendry, I was a slave." Gendry shook his head in denial, anger forming once again on his face, and Arya understood what he meant, and quickly retraced. "But not in that way- no one ever... not that." Gendry's body relaxed slightly at her words and he sighed in relief.

"Gendry?" Arya asked tentatively. He looked up. "You need to promise me that you'll say nothing to Jon."

Gendry's face twisted. "Arya, I have to- Euron needs to be caught for what he did." Arya wanted to retort that he had already technically been forgiven for slave trade, but that was hardly like to calm him down.

Arya licked her lips and grabbed his forearms, though her hands couldn't have wrapped more than half way around. Gendry could have easily shaken her off, but her touch seemed to calm him, so Arya ploughed on.. "Gendry, Jon can't know. He can never know- he will burn down the Seven Kingdoms before he gives up on killing Euron." If Gendry's reaction was that bad, Arya didn't even want to think what Jon would do. Once, when they were children, some boy had pushed Arya over. When Jon saw the scrapes on her hands he asked what had happened; the next morning the boy was limping, and when Arya had looked at him he had stared at something behind her and turned and limped in the opposite direction. When Arya had looked behind her, Jon was stood a few yards away, his arms crossed over his chest. If Jon would do that to someone for shoving her, what would he do to Euron? The thought made her shudder, though not for Euron.

"He deserves it," Gendry said, giving her a gentle shake. "He deserves it for what he's done, and worse." His eyes searched hers.

"I know," Arya said, "I know he deserves to die- but when he does, it will be by my hand. Mine and no one else's." Her eyes bore into his with such an intensity that Gendry almost backed away, before his face hardened, and his grip on her shoulders tightened, giving her another shake.

"Promise me you won't go looking for him," Gendry said firmly. "Promise me, Arya."

Arya pursed her lips; he wanted her to promise to not kill the man that had made her a slave? Arya almost shouted at him for his stupidity, but in his eyes she saw fear and anger and something that Arya could not name. "I promise I won't go looking for him," she said, "if you promise not to tell Jon." She locked her jaw at him, but instead of arguing Gendry seemed to slump with relief.

"I promise," he said, putting his large hand around the back of her head, and pulling her forwards into his chest again. "I promise," he repeated. Arya shut her eyes and focused on the way his chest swelled each time that he breathed, but in her head she could think nothing but of how sad it was that Gendry had believed her lie so easily. While Gendry inhaled deeply to calm himself, The Faceless Assassin in his arms thought of nothing but revenge.

 **Well heck. Arya reveals a bit of her past and Gendry reacts poorly. What will Arya do? Hmmm, I wonder... actually, no I don't lmao I've already got it planned! *rubs hands in glee* Anyway, hope you all liked it- I know the slavery doesn't happen in the books or the show, but this IS fanfiction after all, where everything is, as Spongebob puts it, "IM-AG-IN-ATION!" You know the bit with the rainbow? Lol, I never really even liked Spongebob, but even I remember that one. So yeah, hope you liked the little bit in there about Arya's past. Plus a little bit of Euron's plan is revealed- but will he keep his word to poor Elmar? We'll have to wait and see! As always, let me know what you think, feedback is always welcome! That's all, so Over and Out xoxox**


	19. Moves and Counter Moves

**DISCLAIMER: I do not profit in any way from this story. All rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Okekokee, so last chapter had yet another emotional upheaval, but this time Gendry was in for the ride too! Oof, I wrote that- and this one too!- ahead of time! Wow I am on it! On it like a car bonnet! Is that the saying? I hope so, or I have made a fool of myself :I I re read the chapter where Sandor Clegane first kidnaps Arya in the books today, and honestly I didn't know whether to laugh or cry- it's a good chapter. Then I read the one after the Twins and she's like "Now I'm not even a mouse; I am no one's daughter. I am no one." Heck, that was sneaky, GRRM. y. Anyway I'll stop wittering on and get to it, hope you enjoy, Over and Out xoxox**

"Please, you must come and visit us here again," Lady Reed said, as Arya shook her hand in farewell. "It was lovely to meet you. Should you ever be journeying this way, make sure to stop here, won't you?"

Arya smiled as she stepped backwards. "I'm sure we will, Lady Reed, it was lovely to meet you as well. Perhaps we'll see each other soon, seeing as Meera and Bran are married." It was strange to think of the Reeds as kin, but Arya supposed they were. After all, if Bran and Meera could have children, Arya would be their aunt. Hells, that was a strange thought- being an aunt. Arya wasn't really sure what an aunt did; she'd never met Lysa and Lyanna died before she was even born. Perhaps Arya could be a good aunt, she thought, as Gendry said something to Lady Reed. Sansa would doubtless have children, and Jon- Arya doubted she ever would; the very idea made her cringe.

Meera stepped forwards and enveloped her in a hug, sharply bringing Arya from her thoughts. "I'll miss you," Meera said with a laugh. "I'll be sure to tell Bran what an intriguing guest you made, what with stabbing forks into hands and archery competitions!" She pulled away and Arya grimaced.

"Maybe don't mention it around Sansa," she said, and then added thoughtfully "but perhaps Jon would enjoy the story. When you see him, tell him that I still think he's a horses arse, won't you?"

Meera laughed. "Maybe not those words, but I'll tell him yes. Perhaps you'll be able to tell him yourself soon- there are so many weddings planned I'm sure you'll see a lot of him!" Arya grimaced again at the idea of attending any wedding- especially her own, which she still planned to not happen.

Gendry said his last thanks to the Reeds and then they were off again, across the lake with the rest of the men. It felt strange to be leaving the odd castle; despite her initial reservations, Arya had come to rather like it there.

"So, where to next?" Arya asked idly, trailing her hand in the water.

"Well, we aren't going to be stopping for another few weeks, now that everyone is properly rested," Gendry said. "We'll stay on the Kings Road for now, but after Riverrun we might take another road." Arya looked up sharply at the mention of Riverrun.

"We're stopping at Riverrun?" She asked. Her Uncle Edmure now held Riverrun; he had all of the River lands, including... "We're crossing the Twins," Arya said in a monotone.

Gendry offered her a small smile. "We're not crossing the bridge, no, but we'll be going through the lands there, which," he said in a slightly stern tone, "is why you'll be staying closer than ever. No wandering off."

Arya groaned. "Gendry, stop bloody worrying will you? You worry like my old Septa." He'd barely let her out of his sight after she had confessed her time in slavery the day before; wherever she went, he went- even though they were literally on a floating castle. It was driving her insane.

Gendry rolled his eyes at her retort. "I'm serious, Arya, no going off alone," Arya made to argue, but Gendry shook his head. "I know, you don't need to say it- you can take care of yourself. But still, I want you at my side the whole way; if you can't see me then you've gone too far."

Arya bristled with indignation and anger. The presumptuous, arrogant, bull headed, bastard boy! "It's not like I can't defend myself," she said. "Even if I'm not fully trained with a full sword yet, my Needle can kill a man just as quick!" It was true; it may be a different matter sparring, when you didn't aim to actually kill your partner, but in a fight- Arya had lost count of how many she had killed with Needle.

Gendry scoffed. "I'm not saying that your water dancing doesn't have its merits, but... that little thing you carry is no match for a proper sword." He shrugged dismissively and Arya was tempted to show him just how deadly it was.

"You Westerosi fighters are all the same," Arya snapped. "You don't need to hack a man to pieces to kill him; one well aimed strike will kill a man just the same!"

"Yeah," Gendry laughed, "if it didn't snap first. Arya, does that thing even cut through armour?" He looked at the skinny sword doubtfully, and Arya could help but feel highly insulted on behalf of her beloved Needle.

"No," she admitted, "but while you lot are all focused on cutting a man in half, my Needle can find the weak spots, and while you're still swinging that great piece of metal, my opponent is already dead." Syrio Forel had taught her that, and she had never forgotten it.

"What even is Water Dancing?" Gendry asked, heaving at the oars. Arya narrowed her eyes; had he only asked to change the subject?

"It's hard to describe," Arya said slowly, still suspicious. "It's learning to be a part of your sword through movement. It means that when you really do fight, the motions are instinct. You work with your sword in perfect harmony. When you first begin practicing the dance is not a dance at all, but a planned and stiff set of motions; with time, it becomes fluid and as easy and natural as breathing- you do not have to think about what you are doing because it's a part of you."

Gendry raised his brows at the idea, and Arya could tell that he was not fully convinced. She huffed and leant back. "But whatever," she said, "you'd be rubbish at it anyway; you're too big."

Gendry rolled his eyes.

* * *

As the host mounted and moved into formation, Arya made to trot Astrid to where she usually rode; as far away from the brotherhood as possible, who rode behind Gendry. However, before Astrid could take more than three steps in that direction a hand shot out and grabbed hold of her reins firmly, turning the mares head around and causing her to put her ears back. Arya frowned when Gendry pulled Astrid up beside his destrier.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked, narrowing her eyes in displeasure and tried to yank her reins back. "I always ride there." He didn't let go of her reins as they moved towards the front of the host.

Gendry shook his head. "Not anymore you're not," he said, throwing her a smile. Arya bit her lower lip to hold in a snarl as she noticed several men had seen Gendry leading her horse as if she were a child on a pony. "You promised, remember?"

"Promised you what?" Arya hissed, giving her reins another sharp tug. "Let go you idiot!"

Gendry laughed. "What, so you can gallop off back to the rear?" Arya made no reply. "Besides, you promised that you would start riding up front, with me." Arya grew red as a small group of men laughed at them.

"I only agreed to that if you gave me more freedom!" Arya snapped, trying to turn Astrid's head away from Gendry.

"Even so," Gendry carried on, ignoring her, "I don't want you wandering out of my sight, and if you ride all the way down there I'm hardly going to be able to see you, am I?" Astrid pulled a face at Rogue, her teeth snapping at the over interested stallion. Gendry noted dryly that the horse was almost as prickly as her owner.

"That's the point," Arya muttered underneath her breath. Gendry ignored her as they pulled up into place at the very front of the company.

"Are we ready?" Gendry called down to Greenbeard, among the front of the brotherhood.

"Aye Milord, ready and raring," Greenbeard called.

Gendry turned Rogue about to face the long band of men behind him. Arya felt a wave of surprise as she looked behind her; she had known that the host was large, but to look at it from to front was almost overwhelming. There had to be more than five thousand men behind her, the long line disappearing; she had no idea that Gendry had this many men. _Was this what Robb felt_ , she thought, _when he rode with his army at his back? Did he look behind him at his own men with pride, or with fear?_

Arya turned her eyes back to Gendry, just in time to see his horse go up in the air, tiltering dangerously on his back legs in a magnificent rear, his black coat gleaming in the sunlight; the horse wasn't all that looked magnificent, she thought absently- Gendry did not need his armour to look imposing upon the war horse, as he unsheathed his longsword, and thrust it high above his head, where it was caught in a ray of white sunlight, almost blinding Arya for a moment as it sent beams of light dancing, as if he were Azor Ahai come again.

"Baratheon Company!" Gendry bellowed, as Rogue came down once more with a loud thud, striking the ground with his hooves and throwing his head up and down, sending his long mane lying. Astrid snorted in surprise at the stallions behavior and Arya stroked her neck to calm her, as she jigged to the side.

"Baratheon!" The host roared back with gusto, saluting their lord.

Gendry sheathed his sword, and turned about on Rogue's back hooves, before sending the horse into a gallop. Astrid blew out loudly through her nostrils, snorting. "Woah, girl," Arya shushed, just a moment too late; the mare leaped forward, her head high and neck taut and strained. Arya made a wild grasp for the reins, snatching them up just in time to stop the mare bolting. She managed to bring the excited mare back into control, and sent her forwards next to Gendry.

"Gendry you fucking bastard!" She shouted, as Astrid threw her head up and down, kicking her hind legs out in zealousness. Gendry threw back his head and laughed. "You could have told me you were going to do that!" She fumed, shortening the reins further.

"Why? I knew you could handle it," Gendry shouted at her, turning his face to glance at her.

"That isn't what I meant!" She snapped, lurching to the side as Astrid jerked to the side. "She's going to be nightmare for the rest of the day now!" Astrid was a highly spirited horse, and it took little to set her off; Arya just knew that her fingers would be covered in blisters by the end of the day, and her shoulders and back aching for holding her back.

* * *

The company rode for the rest of the day, stopping only when the sun was high for a quick lunch, before moving off again. Arya had been right in guessing Astrid would be a nightmare ride for the rest of the way, and sure enough, when she made to dismount, her body protested violently, and she stumbled back upon impact with the ground.

Before she could fall, strong hands caught her elbows, and helped to set her upright. Arya snatched her arms away, knowing full well the self satisfied smirk that would be gracing his face. She rolled her shoulders and her neck, wincing as they protested. Astrid danced around her, jigging and jogging, swishing her tail and throwing her head about wildly.

"Stupid horse," Arya scowled, all but throwing the reins at Jayce when he made to take them for her. She spun about on her heel and made to storm off somewhere that she could stretch the tension from her body, and huffed when Gendry fell into step beside her.

"This is your fault," she snapped, rubbing the back of her neck. "If you weren't such a bloody show off, Astrid would never have acted like that!" She bent her head to the side and swore when her neck creaked and clicked. She raised her hands and inspected them, swearing again as she took in the state of them; Arya was no stranger to callouses from rough work, but her skin was cracked and bleeding, and her fingers refused to straighten properly. "Don't you have anything to say?" She asked, gritting her teeth as she rubbed the ache from her fingers.

"I would say that you're just going to make your hands more sore like that," he said, gesturing to the way she roughly rubbed the carpels of her hand. "Here." He stepped in front of her and took her hands in his, gently rubbing the ache with his thumb. Arya looked up at his face as he worked; his head was bent down, lips pressed together in focus as he moved his thumbs in soft circular motions.

"You need to put them in cold water," he muttered, "Or they'll swell and you won't be able to ride tomorrow. Come on," he said, taking her hand absently in his and pulling her gently towards a bubbling brook, that Arya thought must branch from the Green Fork. "Go on, put your hands in. It'll help reduce swelling, though not the ache."

Arya sat down on the bank, and spread her knees wide so that she might place her hands between them and into the water. She almost let out a groan of relief as she submerged her hands; the cold water washed over her skin and soothed the stinging cuts and blisters. Gendry moved to sit next to her, drawing his own knees up in the same fashion as her, his legs knocking hers with the movement.

"Any better?" He asked after a few minutes, nodding at her hands.

"Mmm," Arya hummed, flexing her fingers. "Loads. I might just climb in fully," she said, eyeing the water seriously.

Gendry chuckled. "I wouldn't complain," he joked, nudging her shoulder. Arya snorted and bumped his shoulder back. "Where else is sore?" He asked, serious again.

"My neck and shoulders mostly," Arya admitted, "though I do ache all over." She wanted to stand up and go and find a fire to crawl up in some skins by, but her whole body screamed in protest.

"Well," Gendry said, moving to crouch behind her, "I can't do much about the all over, but I might be able to help your shoulders."

Arya turned to look behind her. "What are you d- ohhh," she began suspiciously, but broke off in a moan of relief as Gendry rubbed circles at the base of her neck. "Mmmm," she hummed, as he took her thick hair in his hands and laid it over her shoulder, freeing up her neck.

Arya rocked her head forward subconsciously, allowing him better access to her neck and shoulders. Gendry lightly brushed the edge of her shirt away, until it slipped down her shoulder and revealed her collar bone. He rubbed firm circles upwards from the base of her neck, reaching almost her ears before smoothing back down the sides of her neck and onto her shoulders, where he went back to firmer, larger circles. As he did it a second time a hum of contentment slipped through Arya's lips, and she was sure that she heard him chuckle softly under his breath.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to give in," Arya sighed, closing her eyes as he began kneading out a knot.

This time he definitely chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said.

"Because I won't," she sighed again, licking her lips and crossing her legs as she took her hands out of the water.

"I know," he said absently, moving his thumbs firmly down the v of her collar bones, just below her throat.

"How can you do this?" Arya murmured, lolling her head back until it hit his chest, her eyes still closed.

She felt Gendry shrug behind her. "Back at Master Mott's shop the other 'prentices used to get sore necks from work," he said. "We used to rub each other down in the evening."

"There were others?" Arya asked, surprised. She had thought it was just him there. Maybe she didn't know as much about him as she thought.

"Uh huh," he said, kneading the sides of the top of her spine. "Four of us, me, Dolber, Bodge and Wren. I was the first one to 'prentice there, but I wasn't the oldest."

"When did you start there?" Arya asked curiously.

Gendry paused for a moment. "They took me in when I was nine, but that was just sweeping and cleaning tools- I didn't start my apprenticeship until I was eleven, and that was only because I grew so big." He tilted her head forward again and began at the beginning, at the nape of her neck.

"How did you become Gendry Waters?" Arya asked, hoping he understood her question. She sighed and opened her eyes, before rocking forward. His hands fell from her skin as they both stood up. She blushed as she pushed her shirt back over her shoulder. "Thanks," she said quietly, surprised by how much better she felt.

Gendry smiled softly at her as they wandered back to where camp was being set up. Gendry had ordered that the tents were not set up; it saved time in the morning if people just slept in their furs. "I don't remember much about when I was little to be honest. I lived in Kings Landing, though, in a room above a tavern. Sometimes with my mother, sometimes with one of the other tavern girls if she was working." A sad look crossed briefly across his face at the word "working", but before Arya could fully note it, it had passed. She understood; it couldn't be good to think of your own mother being... "Other times I was alone and I would start to be difficult," he laughed, and Arya wondered if the laugh was only to cover his discomfort. "Then she used to tell me that if my father were here he'd beat me bloody. I usually sobered up after that; I'd seen how some of the men treated children they didn't want and couldn't afford to keep, and I wasn't eager to experience it."

They had reached the edge of the camp by then, and sat down by a freshly dug fire pit, though there was no fire burning there yet, just a pile of wood. Gendry knelt before the pit, and began to build the fire as he talked. "I was maybe five or six when she died, and then I was on my own. They kicked me out of the little room, found shelter when I could, more often not. Occasionally got a coin for little jobs, but that was rare enough." He finished building the fire, and Arya passed him some flint to strike a spark. "One day some fat man took me to Master Mott, exchanged some whispers, and then I was with him for the next few years. That's all I remember, really," he said, leaning back as flames crackled around the wood, "I told you." He moved back and sat next to her again, his forearms resting on his knees as he looked at her sideways. "What about you, then? Do you remember anything from when you were little?"

Arya smiled softly as she stared at the dancing flames. "I remember everything," she said wistfully. Gendry said nothing as he waited for her to speak, and he almost thought that she wasn't going to, when she began quietly, her eyes never leaving the swirling orange and red. "I remember sitting at feasts, with my brothers. I remember how my father used to eat with a different adviser or staff every day; I used to love listening to their stories. I remember climbing trees with Bran, and then being told off by Septa Mordane for ripping my dress." A small smile graced her lips, though Gendry thought her eyes remained sad, distant, as if she were not truly seeing the fire but something else. "I remember Harwin leading my pony around the yard, and play fighting with my brothers. I remember when my father took me to White Harbour, and we sat and watched the ships while we ate ice and milk. I remember the blue winter roses that grew on the outer wall. I remember sneaking into Jon's bed at night, and how Robb taught me to fish." She trailed off then, and Gendry thought she was done when she turned to look at him for a moment. "I was thinking about Robb today," she admitted.

"How come?" Gendry asked, nudging her knee with his.

Arya dipped her head down to look at the ground beneath her feet, and then back up at the fire while she tried to think of how to explain. "Seeing your men, all lined up behind us and cheering for you," she answered quietly. "It made me wonder if that was what Robb saw when he looked behind him. He'd be the same age as you now," she added, thoughtfully.

Gendry looked thoughtful for a moment, and Arya thought he was about to say something when Jayce jumped over the log beside Arya, holding a cooked rabbit on a spit, the flesh still scorched red and steaming in the chilly air.

"I caught another rabbit Milady," he grinned. "Thought you and Milord might like to have some." He seemed suddenly shy as he offered them the spit, and Arya smiled at the younger boy.

"I'm starving," she said, ripping a bit off and then passing it to Gendry. "Thanks Jayce. How did you get this one?" She asked, taking a bite. Grease ran down her wrist and soaked into the edge of her sleeve, and the meat was perfect, succulent and salty in one. "This is good," she said appreciatively, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

Jayce seemed surprised at her manners, and Gendry laughed upon seeing the squires face. "Don't you mind her, Jayce. If you're surprised by this you should have seen her as a child. She used to eat so fast I thought she would choke!" He grinned at her and Arya blushed.

"Yes well," she said, "we were starving, weren't we? And I seem to remember you doing the same," she teased, pinching the piece of meat from his fingers and popping it in her mouth. He narrowed his eyes at her and took another chunk. Arya wiggled her eyebrows daringly.

"Well, at least I didn't resort to eating worms and beetles," he grumbled, passing the rabbit to Jayce.

"You ate worms?" Jayce asked, looking revolted.

Arya laughed. "Food was food," she said. "Besides, don't look too revolted, that's your next task now that you can catch rabbits." Arya took a moment to watch his face freeze in horror, before she burst out laughing.

"She's just teasing you, lad," She heard Gendry say, "pay no attention." Jayce sighed in relief and ate some rabbit, before passing the spit back to Gendry.

When Arya sat up right again, still chuckling, she nodded at the rabbit. "So how did you catch it?" She asked.

Jayce smiled. "I crept up real quiet on 'im," he said, puffing out his skinny chest. "and when he sniffed my scent and turned around, I grabbed him!" He suddenly went all shy again. "Will we be doing more training now that we're on the move again?" He asked hopefully.

Arya nodded. "Mhmm. So long as grumpy guts doesn't keep you doing chores too long, that is," she said, nudging Gendry again, and smiling at his highly indignant expression.

"Grumpy guts?" He asked incredulously, pinching her side. "When have I ever been grumpy with you?"

Arya pretended to think. "Hmm, lets see... how about every time I ever do something that isn't standing within two foot of you?" she asked pointedly, smirking at his scowl.

"You did gallop after her and shout at her for being off in the woods yesterday," Jayce joined in. Gendry sent him a dirty look, and the boy went red and curled away. "Sorry Milord," he muttered, and Arya poked Gendry again.

"See," she said, pinching some more rabbit from his fingers and popping it in her mouth before he could snatch it back. "You ARE grumpy."

Gendry grumbled and snatched the wine skin Jayce had brought with him. " The seven bugger you both," he grumbled, and Arya smiled.

* * *

The moon was glowing brightly in the sky, almost a full moon, when Arya saw Anguy, Lem, Greenbeard and Tom O'Sevens sat around a fire, at the edge of some trees. Perhaps... maybe she ought to speak to them, she thought. _It doesn't mean I'll forgive them, but I can't never look at them._ So, swinging her arms by her side and shoulders held stiff with determination, Arya headed over to the group and sat down without a word.

Arya thought she recognised the tune that Tom had been plucking. "What was that you were playing?" She asked, uncomfortably aware of the way they had shared a couple of looks as she sat down.

"I'm sure you'll know it Milady," Tom said, scratching his chin. He saw her grimace. "What, don't like it?" He grinned toothily.

Arya shook her head. "No its not... Arya is fine. Not Lady." The words had barely passed her lips when Anguy laughed, and slung an arm around her shoulders.

"Aye, same as always," he said, grinning at the others. "Don't matter none if you're a woman full grown now, you'll always be the same little lady. Remember when you broke old Lem's nose?" He let out a bark of laughter, and Arya wondered if he had drunken a little much ale.

"I bloody remember," Lem said, rubbing his poor bent nose. "My poor codge ain't never been the same," he said giving her a mock dirty look.

"You're the one who grabbed me," Arya said in her defense. "What did you expect me to do?"

Lem balked. "You were a tiny little girl, whatever I expected it wasn't for you to smash my nose with a tankard!" He exclaimed, looking a little reproachful. Arya simply smiled at him and turned back to Tom, who had gone back to strumming that tune.

"So what was the song?" she asked, nodding at the harp and shrugging off Anguy's arm. "Do I know it?"

Tom smiled and played a couple of chords. "Do you want to hear it little lady?" She nodded, and he tweaked the string slightly before he began.

 _My feather bed is deep and soft,_

 _And there I'll lay you down._

 _I'll dress you all in yellow silk,_

 _And on your head a crown._

 _For you shall be my lady love,_

 _And I shall be your lord._

 _I'll always keep you safe and warm,_

 _And guard you with my sword._

As Tom sung the verses, Arya felt a flicker of recognition in her, remembering sitting at an Inn and hearing him sing it. The song invoked memories of drinking warm ale and cracking open roasted walnuts. As he sang the second verse Arya found herself silently mouthing the words.

 _And how she smiled and how she laughed,_

 _The maiden of the tree._

 _She span away from him and said_

 _No feather bed for me._

 _I'll dress myself in leaves of gold,_

 _And weave my hair with grass._

 _For you shall be my forest love,_

 _And me your forest lass_.

Arya smiled as the song ended, the last note ringing softly in the air. Arya remembered it now; she hadn't heard it anywhere since her days with the Brotherhood and would have forgotten it had Tom not being twanging his strings.

"I like that one," Arya said softly. "I haven't heard many songs since I was with the Brotherhood."

Anguy chuckled and shared a look with Tom, who was smiling softly. "I'm not surprised you like that one, little lady," he said, looking at his hands as he fiddled with a piece of yellowed milk grass.

Arya creased her brow. "What do you mean?" she asked, but Anguy didn't answer and neither did anyone else, so Arya shrugged and asked, "What other songs do you know?" she asked.

Tom chuckled. "More a case of what songs I don't know. What songs do you know?" He asked, shifting his leg so that it was crossed over the other, the harp rested on top.

Arya bit her lip and tried to think. "I know the Rains of Castamere," she said, though she despised the song.

Tom and Lem shared a look. "I don't think that's the sort of song to be sung right now," Tom said, "do you know any others?"

Arya wracked her brains for another song. "I don't know what it's called, but its about a woman that rode a horse, I think. Do you know it?" Anguy laughed and she elbowed him.

Tom gave her a funny sort of smile, and nodded his head. "Aye I know that one, Milady." He struck up the chords and had only uttered the first couple of lines, immediately causing Arya to blush, when someone put their hand on his shoulder from behind. Tom stopped playing to turn around, but Gendry had already moved to the side.

"Not in front of Milady," he said firmly, and Anguy groaned. Arya wondered what the song was about that Gendry didn't want her hearing it. He looked about at the group. "It's about time you all settled down for the night, don't you think? The rest of the camp has started to prepare to sleep, they don't want your bawdy songs keeping them awake."

Arya looked around at the host behind her, and saw that despite her having not noticed, most were beginning to settle in their furs, around fire pits or at the edge of wagons.

Gendry saw her looking about, and held out a hand to help her up. "I plan on an early morning, tomorrow," he said, pulling her up with ease. "I advise that you all settle yourselves down and get a good nights sleep." And with one more dirty look at Tom, he turned around and strode off into the camp, stepping around piles of fur.

Arya headed towards a wagon in which she had thrown her own furs to keep them dry. Walking through the camp, Arya tried to find a place to settle, but all of the fire pit were crowded; it was already getting cold, and it would only get colder. Eventually, Arya gave up, and wandered over to a tree line of a small patch of woods, and set up her furs by an old log, grumbling to herself for not bringing a skin to put between her and the hard ground, something which would only add to the cold. Before she had finished rolling out her furs, she heard steps on the ground as someone walked over to her.

"What did I say about wandering off, girl?" Gendry said as he knelt down beside her, giving her a stern look that Arya ignored. He began to roll out his own skins next to hers as she climbed beneath the fur, wriggling to get comfortable on the hard ground, resigning herself to an uncomfortable night. She watched as Gendry yanked off his boots, and shrugged off his leather jerkin as he sat down, rolling it up and placing it under his head as a makeshift pillow.

Arya curled up tight beneath her furs as the cold of the ground began to sink in to her clothes, and shivered, cursing herself once again for not bringing a skin and better furs; she didn't know what had happened to them. Most nights, Arya had been able to build herself a small fire, or make a lean to, but there had been no time.

Arya tucked her knees under her chin and closed her eyes; it wasn't like it would be the first night she had slept in the cold, but that didn't stop the cold sinking in through her clothes and making her shiver. When her teeth began to chatter, despite Arya's best efforts to clench them together, Gendry sighed.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep with all that teeth chattering," he said lightly.

"It's cold," Arya protested, aware of how pathetic she must seem. "I don't have a skin besides."

"Oh," Gendry said, before shifting. "It's warmer over here," he said, lifting his furs to her. Arya hesitated.

"I'm fine," she said, hugging her furs more tightly around her.

"No you aren't," Gendry said stubbornly. "Come and get warm over here, or neither of us will get any sleep." He noticed her hesitation again. "No strings attached, just like before."

Arya smiled through her shivers. "I forgot about that," she said, suddenly remembering the way that they used to curl up together for warmth.

"I never did." His arm still held the furs up, and Arya sighed before crawling under them, pulling her furs with her. Even through his shirt Arya could feel how hot Gendry's skin was, and without thinking snuggled against his chest, while he arranged their furs over them so that they were both covered.

"Do you remember now?" He asked softly.

"I do," Arya said. And she did. She remembered how she had always felt just a bit safer in Gendry's arms, how she had felt relief as she lay next to him, their breath mingling. His breath washed over the top of her head now, hot and steady, and soon enough Arya began to warm up.

"Tell me something," Gendry suddenly said. "Something you remember."

"Like what?" Arya asked, hoping he was not about to ask for something she could not say.

"I don't know," he said, lifting and arm and putting it over her waist to get comfortable. "Something nice."

Arya thought for a moment. She couldn't remember anything that made a nice story, not something recent. Then an idea struck her, and Arya smiled. "When I was a little girl, at Winterfell, my brothers and sister and I used to play games. Usually we were separated during the day, Robb and Bran and Jon out in the yard learning how to fight and ride and shoot, while Sansa and I used to sit inside and learn how to sew and sing and please." Arya smiled. "I wasn't very good at it. The songs were stupid, the sewing was boring and I was better at frowning than smiling. My sister and her friends used to tease me, call me Arya Horseface. I didn't care about all of that stuff... but it still used to hurt.

"One day, I go out into the yard, after the boys had been shooting arrows with Ser Rodrick. Bran had left his bow, lying on the ground- Ser Rodrick would have cuffed him if he saw. There was one arrow in the target," she smiled as she remembered, "and no one else around. No one to stop me. So I picked up the bow, and I started shooting. I wasn't very good. Every time I shot, I had to go up there and get my one arrow, walk back and shoot it again. Finally I hit the bullseye; it could have been the twentieth shot, or the fiftieth, I don't remember, but I hit it, and behind me I hear a clapping.

"I turn around, and look up, and he's standing there, smiling down at me. Father. I knew what I was doing was against the rules, but he was smiling, so I knew it wasn't wrong. The rules were wrong. I was doing what I was meant to be doing and he knew it." Arya remembered how she had felt when she saw him there; she had thought he might tell her off, but he hadn't. And suddenly, she had known that it was all right. That she was all right.

Gendry seemed to sigh a smile. "That's a nice story," he decided, his voice rough. "What happened next?"

Arya swallowed. "He died." She rolled over in his arms, closed her eyes, and pretended to sleep, slowing her breathing and laying still against him. She heard him sigh as he shuffled to get comfortable behind her, but Arya was already too far gone...

 _She walked nimbly through the bustling crowds, taking in all of the sights and smells and sounds as other people went about their business. Through the mass of bodies she saw a flash, and heard something. She pressed on through the people, trying to see who it was._

 _"Lets go climbing Arya," said little Bran, hopping up on the wall of the bridge. "Lets go climbing."_

 _"Bran No!" She said, reaching out to grab him and pull him to safety, but she was too late, and he was falling, falling, falling, and then there was his body, crushed and broken on the cobble stones. Arya turned to run to him, but there was the waif behind her, with her crude knife poised to stab her._

 _Arya did the only thing she could, and leaped over the wall, except Brans body was gone and so was the floor, and Arya kept falling until there was water, and she plunged beneath the inky depths. She didn't know which way to swim, which was up and which was down, and there in the water was Jaqen H'ghar, coming to take her face._

 _Arya screamed but only bubbles came out, and she swam and swan, and suddenly she was breathing, still in blackness, but the air was still moist and loud with sobbing as the other slaves cried for food and water in the hull of Greyjoys ship. Arya pulled at her chains_ _and suddenly she fell backwards as they gave..._

 _except when she opened her eyes she was on the dusty floor outside, and Euron Greyjoy was holding the tip of a sword to her throat, and grinning that mad, mad grin at her. He threw a coin at her. "You can pay it back to me one day, when you next see me, to thank me for my mercy."_

 _Arya grabbed the sword, ignoring the sting as it cut her palm. "If I ever see you again, I'll kill you," she snarled, as he laughed above her. "I'll kill you, Euron Greyjoy. Kill you. Kill you if I see you again, Euron Greyjoy." He laughed and laughed and the world span. "I'll kill you, Euron Greyjoy." The world kept spinning and blood poured out of her eyes, and she screamed to make it stop._

 _"_ Wake up, Arya!" Said a voice. "Wake up, damn it!"

Arya bolted up. "I'll kill you!" She shouted into the darkness, thinking that surely she must be back in the hull of the ship, but the air was fresh and cold and smelt of trees, and the chains on her were not chains at all but Gendry's arms, and the blood pouring from her eyes were tears.

"Arya, it's alright," Gendry soothed, sitting up beside her, stroking her hair. "You're safe. Euron Greyjoy isn't here." He shushed her and held her, but Arya shook and struggled, sure she could still hear his laughter echoing behind the darkness.

There was a light, and another voice, but Arya did not hear what it said, because the laughing was still too loud. Something was pushing her back down, and her breathing slowed. Just before Arya fell into dreamless sleep, she thought she felt her mother press a kiss to her hair, and then there was nothing.

* * *

Gendry woke up to the sound of shouting, and bolted upright, reaching for his sword, but the camp was still and quiet, save for the girl beside him. Arya writhed and twisted in the furs, tears pouring down her face.

"Arya," Gendry said, taking her shoulder, "Wake up, it's alri-"

"I'll kill you!" She shouted, twisting away, "I'll kill you Euron Greyjoy." She sobbed as Gendry tried to shake her, her words sending icy chills down his spine. Was she dreaming of her capture at the hands of the iron born? Gendry tried to wake her, shaking her shoulder. He could hear people waking in the camp.

"Arya, its alright, just wake up," he said, trying to keep her still, when she bolted upright, screaming. He could see the whites of her eyes in the dark, and realised that she was awake, but still dreaming.

"Arya, it's alright," he soothed, stroking her hair away from her face. "You're safe."

She remained tense in his arms, trembling and muttering, though she seemed to be calming down, her breathing gradually slowing. Gendry looked up as he saw a light coming towards them, just as Lem appeared from the darkness, carrying a torch.

"Is she alright Milord?" He asked, staring in shock at the crying girl. His face was just as bewildered as Gendry's must have been, for neither had seen Arya like this before.

"Nightmare," Gendry said, stroking her back.

Lem nodded warily. "With the things she seen it's hardly unexpected," he said, still eyeing her cautiously. "Are you alright Milord?"

Gendry nodded. "Go back to sleep, Lem. I'll take care of her." Lem nodded and turned around, the light of his torch dying as he left. Gendry pushed Arya back down, and held her until she calmed, though he stayed awake.

Jon had mentioned that Arya had disturbing dreams, but... Gendry had never guessed they could be to this magnitude. Was it the sudden resurface of Euron that had brought it about? Jon had mentioned that she cried out names in her sleep, but he hadn't mentioned Euron before.

Gendry watched her as she slept, occasionally trembling in his hold, her tear tracks glinting in the moonlight. Who was this girl, in his arms? Sometimes he recognised her, and other times she seemed a stranger. Gendry wanted to curse and shout, as he tried not to imagine the things she had experienced due to Euron Greyjoy. Gendry had met the Queens Unsullied, spoken with them during the war. The tales they told of slavery... Gendry felt ill in the stomach to think Arya had seen those things. What if she had lied? Gendry would be lying himself if he said that he always felt that he got the full truth from Arya, so was it really so unlike her to conceal things or to lie about things she didn't want him to know? Even as children she had never fully confided in him, but Gendry had just assumed that was how Arya was.

But no matter what Arya called him, Gendry wasn't stupid; he knew she had been lying when she promised not to look for Euron. But if she could lie, then so could he, and the second that he had retired to his rooms he had summoned Tom to pen a letter to Jon, and sent it the same evening. Arya didn't need to know, but the sooner that Jon did the better.

But... what if there was something, something important, that she wasn't telling him? Gendry had done all he could to protect her, set up sentries, sent out scouts, made sure she was never alone, had people armed around her at all times, but if there was something instrumental that she hadn't told him, then it would all be for nothing.

She had said that Euron didn't recognise her, said that he never knew what he had, but there was a chance that he had later learnt of it. Gendry had only seen him a couple of times, only spoken to him once, and each time the man had seemed utterly insane to him. Perhaps he was out for revenge, for Arya slipping through his fingers. Perhaps he didn't care, so long as he got what he wanted- and who knew what he wanted? Hells, even Jon had been forced to admit that there was no solid proof that the ironmen meant to rebel, nothing more than whispers.

Gendry peered down at the sleeping girl in his arms. She looked so innocent in her sleep, but Gendry wondered what dream plagued her now. Her lips hinted at a frown in her sleep, and her eyelids fluttered every now and then, as if she was about to wake. He brushed a strand of stray hairs away from her forehead, and pressed a kiss to her sweet smelling hair, thinking _how do I save her from herself?_

 **OK so that's another chapter up! Just a quick note, a few people have been asking again who Arya looks like, but I really can't say. Honestly it's up to you; I just picture her exactly how I imagined Lyanna to look, but more fierce and smaller. I did describe her early on- when she was with Sansa?- but I don't really like describing the more sexual bits; I think I put a little bit in for those who requested it, but I just don't think that should be a defining part of Arya's character. Plus I hate writing that kind of stuff. So yeah, just picture how you normally do! Over and Out xoxox**


	20. Ghosts on the Ground

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN!**

 **He-ey dudes, so I know, I know- I'm late again! I DO have a good excuse though... I have been having another set of mocks; as such, I have genuinely not had the time- I get home at six, do the horses, homework, revision, have a bath and go to bed! I've barely even had time to switch my laptop on.**

 **Anyway, seeing as its been a while, a quick recap; Arya and Gendry have left Greywater Watch and are headed towards the Riverrun. Arya reconnects a little with the Brotherhood men, and Gendry wakes to Arya having a pretty scary nightmare! Poor Arya :((**

 **Anyhoo, as usual, hope you all enjoy this update, any queries let me know, and reviews are always super appreciated! So I'll leave you to it! Over and Out xox**

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Arya stared impassively at the rushing waters of the Trident in the valley before them. On the other side, in the distance, she could see the black towers that marked the place where her brother and mother had been murdered. No flags flew there in the wind, nor was there any bustle of tiny distant figures going about their business. It was utterly still. A graveyard.

Arya didn't turn around or acknowledge him as Gendry pulled up beside her on the brow of the hill. She kept her face a blank slate, as calm and still as the place she stared at. She swallowed down the regrets and bitterness, and it sunk to her stomach as a heavy weight. The last time she had been there she had not been Arya Stark, but a Faceless assassin pretending to be a serving girl. It had only been when Walder Freys lifes blood was warming her hand that she allowed Arya Stark to feel satisfaction. Not that Gendry needed know that.

"How are you?" He asked her from her side, his voice low and hesitant. Arya noticed his Adams Apple bob in his throat through the corner of her eye. He knew what this place was to her.

Arya didn't move a muscle as she replied in a flat voice. "It should have been destroyed. It should have been pulled down and burnt long ago." For half an instant Arya wanted to rush down there and do it herself somehow. How could Winterfell have been destroyed in the war, yet this place left standing? This place that stood as testament and monument to the death of her family?

Gendry did not reply for a moment. "Do you want to go down there?"

Arya remained still as a stone, though Astrid fidgeted impatiently beneath her. For a second the want was intense... and then Arya grit her teeth. No. She wouldn't go there. Not there. She would let her ghosts rest in peace. What was the point in disturbing them? And immediately, Arya knew that she had to somehow get away from that place. She didn't care where to or for how long, bust she could not stand to be there for any longer.

She turned Astrid's head around and urged her on into gallop, leaving Gendry staring sadly after her. She galloped past the spot where the company had begun to make camp, and further still, focusing on how the mares muscles bunched and tightened as she swallowed up the ground.

She did not stop until she reached a small woods, where she vaulted out of the saddle, tied the puffing horse to a tree, and strode through the trees. The ground followed a firm uphill slope, and she found herself using her hands to pull herself to balance, digging her fingers into the compact earth. Arya liked that feeling; the clay and grit crumbling over her skin, sticking under her finger nails and in the lines of her hands.

Upon reaching the top of the slope Arya stopped and turned about, sinking to a one kneeled crouch as she surveyed the view. She could see the camp, and beyond that the tops of the towers that had been the last place her family ever set foot, and further than that the rolling hills of the Riverlands.

Was it strange, she thought, that looking at the place made her feel nothing? Just an emptiness in a place that was once filled with rage? Arya wondered which was worse. The sky, earlier a clear blue, that reminded her of her sisters eyes, was now darkening, with a thick grey cloud lit up by yellowing sunlight. The fires in camp were beginning to be lit, and Arya watched as ten and then twenty and then forty and more were lit, glowing orange as the dusk set low on the ground, sending rivulets of smoke up in pillars, growing lighter as they drifted towards the waking stars.

Arya didn't move as she heard him climbing the slope, instead placing her palm flat to the earth and imagining she could feel the ground shudder in time to his footsteps. She heard him let out a long and low breath as he walked up to her from behind, to the brow she sat at, her knees pulled up and ankles crossed.

When he said nothing Arya chewed her lip. "I suppose you're going to tell me off for going off alone," she said flatly. He seemed to hesitate before he sat down heavily beside her, one leg stretched out long and the other pulled up.

"Not today," he said quietly, taking her hand in his large one and squeezing it. Normally Arya would have squeezed back and then found a reason to move away... but this time she let him, hesitantly wrapping her own fingers around his. If he was surprised by her actions Gendry didn't show it. From the brow they watched as the sun sank lower still, sitting in silence as even the birds began to take roost.

"Would you be angry if you woke and I was gone?" Arya asked, wondering on his answer.

Gendry turned to look at her. "Am I going to?" He asked with one brow raised.

Arya paused for a few seconds. "No," she admitted quietly.

Gendry turned back to look at the company below them. "Perhaps at first. Then I would just be afraid."

Arya tugged her lower lip with her teeth. "Afraid?" She asked. "That I was hurt?"

"Yes," he answered, "but more because I would worry that I would never get you back." He squeezed her hand and shot a small smile at her. "But don't think I wouldn't be furious again. So, am I going to have to get ready to send out a search party for you in the morning?"

Arya huffed a laugh and shook her head. "Not today, no."

Gendry quirked a thick brow at her. "Not today? Does that mean you still will?"

Arya sighed, and stretched her legs out beside his, feeling a tick in her temple as her feet stopped a foot short of his. "Gendry," she sighed, "You know that I don't mean to be your wife." She saw a flash of something on his face and winced. "That doesn't mean that I'm not your friend."

Gendry lifted the corner of his mouth slightly. "What if I don't want to be just friends?"

Arya had to refrain from snapping. Why did he have to do this here, now? "You know that I don't want more."

Gendry turned his face to hers again, bathed in shadows on one side and a soft orange from the sunset on the other. "And you know that I do," he said firmly. "I've been clear about that from the beginning. It's all or nothing with me."

Arya swallowed thickly. "Then it will have to be nothing," she said, refusing to acknowledge the part of her that cried out for more. She moved to stand up, but he pulled her back down, shaking his head.

"No," he said in a low voice, "we made a wager, remember? You gave me a year. You made a promise." He stared down at her, and Arya tugged at her lip as she remembered the deal they had made.

"I remember," she agreed slowly, "but what is the point? Of hanging on for a year for something that can never happen?" Why did he have to drag this out? It would only cause unnecessary pain for all involved.

"Why can it never happen?" He persisted, squeezing her hand and moving it to his chest. "Because I don't believe that you feel nothing for me."

Arya stared at her hand on his chest. "You know why nothing can happen," she said, ignoring his statement.

"What do you feel, Arya?" He asked. "Right now?"

Arya's eyes flickered up to his intense gaze and back down to her hand, still clutched in his own much larger one. She realised that she hadn't yet tried to pull it away, but couldn't bring herself to do it now. "I..." She stopped and hesitated. "You. I feel you." She answered reluctantly.

He tightened his grip on her wrist slightly, so that her fingers unfurled underneath his. "That's right," he said firmly. "Flesh and blood. You can't deny that it is what you need."

"I don't-" she protested, as her brain kicked into gear and she curled her fingers back into her palm as she stood up.

"That's what you keep saying," he cut across, standing up with her and not letting go of her hand on his chest. "But are you happy?"

The question startled Arya, and she froze. Happy? Arya wasn't sure. Happiness was not a key thing in her life. Survival was. There were fleeting moments when she felt happy... but few and far between, and they never lasted for long before the emptiness took hold again. Arya wondered when she had kicked out happiness for survival.

"I'm fine," Arya settled for, slightly shaken by his question.

Gendry shook his head. "You know that doesn't answer my question, and Arya _, I_ can make you happy," he said, stepping closer to her, staring imploringly at her.

Arya felt a shiver tremble down her spine and stepped away, bringing up her other hand to his chest to stop him from coming closer, but instead he took it in his other hand and pressed them close to his skin. "No," she whispered, "you _can't_ -"

"Flesh and blood, Arya," he repeated. "You're not alone anymore." Arya sucked in a shaky breath. Why was he saying this, why now, why here? It wasn't fair.

" _I . Can't_ ," Arya said firmly through clenched teeth. "Why can't you understand that?" she demanded. "I _keep_ telling you, again and again, but you _keep_ asking again and again. Why can't you just _let things be_?"

Gendry closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He licked his lips before he replied. "You're right," he finally said, "I'm sorry." Arya felt her eyes grow wide at his admission; Gendry was as stubborn as she was- she had never known him to apologise first. "I shouldn't keep pushing you. I didn't mean to come up here to say any of this, I only meant to make sure you weren't alone here." Arya licked her own lips at his apology.

"I'm sorry I can't give you what you want, Gendry," she said, curling her fingers into her palm again. She saw a flash of something on his face again, and he clenched his jaw tightly.

"We don't have to go back down with the others," he said, pulling away and clearing his throat. "We can stay up here tonight if you like?"

Arya breathed in relief and felt her shoulders relax for it, that he wasn't going to force her back to camp. "I left Astrid down there though," she said, not wanting to leave her alone.

"It's fine, I had Jayce untack them,"Gendry said, walking into the trees to gather wood. Arya made to join him. "He'll stay with them tonight." The wood was mostly damp, though Arya wasn't surprised; the further they travelled south the wetter it became, the air feeling heavy upon her skin with moistness. That was something she missed already; how fresh and clean it was in the North. And they hadn't even left the Neck yet. She dreaded to think how it would be when they got... well, wherever she did end up.

It did not take them long to get a fire going; it wasn't as if neither weren't practiced in it. Thankfully it was a warm night, as neither had brought furs, though neither made a move to go to sleep just yet. Arya had to admit to herself, it was nice to just sit side by side next to the fire, watching the smoke rise, and the charcoal burn, in silence save for the cracking and hissing of the flames.

"What was it like in the North?" Gendry suddenly asked, poking the fire with a stick.

Arya quirked an eyebrow at him. "I thought you went with Jon?"

Gendry nodded, sitting back. "Yes, but what was it like to live there?"

Arya hummed and considered it for moment. "It was... cold," she decided. Gendry rolled his eyes at his answer and was about to retort but Arya held up a hand. "Not cold cold, but cold as in... empty. When I first went there there was nothing apart from the trees, tall and thin and black, stretching up into the sky. Nothing else. And when you were out of the trees it was even more empty. Just rocks and snow and ice. I liked it, in a way, but you'd be a fool to ever consider it a home." Arya smiled slightly as she remembered it.

"I camped in caves and overhangs, slept in trees. But the further I went, the more sinister it felt. Eventually there was nothing there that lived. No free folk, no animals. There were no villages or settlements, not even any trees. Nothing but ice." Arya stopped smiling, and bowed her head. "There was no wood for fires, and nothing to hunt for food. Then one evening, I saw movement. I assumed it was wildlings, and I made my way there, hoping for some kind of shelter... but it wasn't." Despite the fire, Arya felt ice creep into her bones at the memory, and her voice hardened. "As I went closer it grew colder. It was too late when I realised what I was walking towards."

She heard Gendry suck in violently. "You saw a white walker."

Arya hummed. "White walkers, the living dead, the Others. Whatever you want to call them. One walker, and a group of the dead. It was too late to run and there was nowhere to hide. I did all I could; I grabbed my knife, and I threw it into its chest. I thought it would never work, but it did. It melted the walker, and as it did the rest collapsed as well." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I didn't know what it was at the time, it was just a rough shard of rock really, one end wrapped with leather. I'd found it in an abandoned village. It was crude, but it was sharp. I only took it as a spare, but it saved my life." When she had finally staggered over to where the walker had died, the knife had been lying on the floor, which was scorched with black ice. She had reached to pick it up... and it had been freezing cold to touch, and she had pulled her hand away the second it burned her fingers.

Gendry blinked in the glow of the fire, and shook his head. "To think, if you hadn't picked it up by chance... Do you still have it?" He asked, searching her as if it might be on her belt..

Arya quirked the corner of her lips. "Not with me," she said. "It's at Winterfell." The thought still made her bitter.

"Why didn't you bring it?" He asked, incredulous.

Arya gave him a look. "I didn't really have a chance did I? The second Jon got me I was locked in guest chambers by his solar. I never had a chance to pack anything." Arya hated not having her things. Sure, she had Needle and Dark Sister... but Arya was used to carrying everything she owned, comprising of weapons mostly. Arrowheads in her socks, knives in her belt, shards in her cloak, spikes in her boots, swords at her belt, an axe at her back if she had one... compared to that, only two seemed practically useless. Then, of course, there were much more important things that she never had a chance to pack.

If she didn't know they were safe where they were, Arya would have attempted to escape and go back for them already. Her faces could not be found by anyone. If Jon found out, or Sansa, even Gendry... it would not bode well. As it was they were tucked away in a concealed niche in her wall, by the head board of her bed. With them was the Dragonglass knife, and an assortment of other... things. Things she had picked up in her travels...

Gendry bit his teeth together, and smiled ruefully. "Ah. That. That... was ill done. I meant to ask, by the way... did you deliberately leave the stag there?"

Arya blinked. "What? No. I'd been dragging it across the yard when I heard two serving girls talking and stopped to listen. I thought they were talking about Jon." Arya smirked and let out a bark of laughter as she remembered.

"What?" Gendry asked suspiciously.

Arya stifled a laugh. "When I first heard them talking I thought they were talking about Jon, and I wanted to hear so I could embarrass him later. They were talking about his "thick, dark hair," and his "beautiful, deep blue eyes.""

"But Jon doesn't have blue eyes," Gendry said, screwing his face up. Arya rolled her eyes.

"No," she concurred, "but there was another Lord in the castle that night, and they were fantasizing about your impressive... castle. About how large and firm and strong it is." She stifled another laugh.

Gendry only looked more confused. "They'd been to Storms End?"

Arya shook her head and gave him a pointed look, chuckling when she saw it click on his face, and bursting out laughing when he blushed.

Gendry cleared his throat. "What about Braavos?" He asked, changing the subject. Arya snorted at his embarrassment, to cover up her nerves as he mentioned the place. "You mentioned that you were there before."

Arya nodded and thought for a moment. "If the Land of Always Winter was empty, then Braavos was bursting with life. It was made of a hundred islands, all of them linked closely together by bridges, stone and wood. The weather changed mostly between fog, rain and freezing rain... but on some days it was fresh and crisp and bright. There was never a moment of silence during the day; the docks were full of shouting of traders and merchants. Everywhere in the lower towns were cramped full of low houses and wooden markets, and the upper towns were open and aristocratic. When it was quiet at night, you could hear the water, and the sounds of a thousand boats all bumping gently to their posts." Arya had liked it... before everything became sinister.

"How did you survive there alone?" Gendry asked, and Arya smiled. She had known he would ask, so had talked for time to think up a story, as close to the truth as she could without giving too much away.

"I called myself Cat of the Canals," she said, smiling softly at the fire. "I begged enough money to buy a bucket of oysters. I sold them, and made enough to buy two more. It took a while, but I finally saved enough to buy myself an oyster cart. Every morning, I would make my way down to the canals; I would pass the fishmongers, and the bakers. I would usually see Lara, my first customer of the day, on her way home." Arya remembered the last time she had surmised the story; Jaqen H'ghar was a good listener, but Gendry was an even better audience, and he seemed to listen to her every word.

"Then, I would turn left, onto Ragman Lane, where I did most of my trade. There were a lot of brothels in that area, and oysters, clams and cockles were popular for... keeping a man up to it," she smirked. Of course, it had meant her customers were the cruder type, and most days Cat was forced to suffer comments.

Gendry smiled at her story. "That was clever," he admitted. "But where did you stay?"

Arya shrugged. "It wasn't too cold in Braavos, so for a while I was fine on the streets. But eventually, as it grew colder, I was forced to find another way to live. Eventually I got an apprenticeship with a man called Izambaro, as a mummer." She smiled at the memory; she had been quite a good actress, and the people had liked her. Compared to the House of Black and White, the mummers were nothing.

"You were an actress?" Gendry asked, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

Arya nodded, amused at his surprise. "It kept me paid and sheltered and fed; I also didn't have to smell of oyster all the time." It had been a relief; Arya still wrinkled her nose at the smell of them. "I played several smaller parts, until eventually I was given a role as a maid, who was raped by Tyrion Lannister in a play called The Bloody Hand." Of course, Tyrion had never raped anyone; from what she had later found out, the maid she had played had been a lying whore, saving her own skin.

Unexpectedly, Gendry let out a bark of laughter, causing Arya to look up in surprise. "You really are unbelievable, you know?" He chuckled. "Anyone else would have either starved or become a whore. What was it like?"

Arya chewed her lip. "It was strange. Like, I didn't have to be Arya Stark with a bounty on her head. I could be a girl called Cat that became an actress. For a while I was naive enough to think it would last." She said bitterly as she lay back, and placed her hands under her head.

"Why didn't it?" Gendry asked, stretching out beside her.

Arya shot him a quick smile. "I guess I wasn't as good an actress as I thought. Someone wanted me dead, and I was forced to flee." It was sort of true... she wasn't lying.

"Who wanted you dead?" He asked, turning his face to hers. Arya felt a tick of irritation; what was with all of the questions? Gendry had always been so silent and brooding when they were younger- she still often saw that in him now, but she didn't understand why he insisted on so many bloody questions.

Arya sighed out through her nose. "I don't know," she said, thinking quickly. "I assume it was Cersei."

"She sent Goldcloaks after you in Braavos?" He asked, twitching his nose.

Arya shook her head. "At first I didn't know. I still don't know how long they were following me for, it could have been weeks, but eventually I noticed the little things; always a face disappearing around a corner, or someone too eager to offer me a drink, always footsteps following me through the dark and stopping when I turned round..." Arya felt sick as she remembered it. In reality it hadn't been exactly like that, but she still remembered the fear as she searched every face in the crowd, still knowing that it would do her no help, for how can you defend yourself from an enemy that you can't see? "I assume you've heard of the Faceless Guild?"

Gendry blanched. "Cersei hired them to kill you?" He asked, turning onto his side to better look at her.

Arya hummed in confirmation. "At least, I assume so. There were a fair few that wanted me dead. When I realised just who was following me... things became different. I never knew if the friendly girl that passed me in the streets was plotting my death, or if the boy who brought us wine had put poison in it. I didn't know who I could trust and who I couldn't. Then... I really fucked up. You remember Raff the Sweetling?" She asked, turning her head and placing her hands on her chest.

Gendry winced. "Of course I do, why?"

Arya smiled sadly. "Because I killed him." She enjoyed the look of surprise on his face before she carried on. "It wasn't that hard, really. He saw one of the plays I was in, and I recognised him instantly. I won't bother saying too much, but I seduced him, and then killed him. Thing is, I was seen, and Izambaro fired me. Said he wouldn't tell anyone, but he refused to keep me. After that I had nowhere safe to go." Not that that was exactly how it happened, but it was enough for Gendry.

"And they found you?" He concluded, searching her face darkly.

Arya quirked her mouth. "In a sorts. I used all of my coin to book passage on a ship, but an hour before it left one of the assassins caught up with me. It wasn't pretty, but I survived." She hoped Gendry wouldn't ask any more, but she knew that he would never let it lie.

"What did they do?" He asked darkly, moving to prop himself up on one elbow.

Arya swallowed. He would find out at some point, so why lie? "Stabbed me, low in the stomach. Repeatedly. There was nothing else I could do, so I threw myself over the bridge and into the canal. I stayed underneath for as long as I could, and the assassin thought me dead when I didn't resurface." She was whispering at the end.

Gendry's face had darkened, cast with shadows. Arya chewed her lip as he sat up further, and raised his hand to her tunic covered stomach. She stayed still as a stone as he gently pulled her shirt from her breeches, and slowly up over her skin, revealing the hideous mess of scars. When Sansa had seen it she had paled and shook and cried... but Gendry's face remained as still and as hard as carved stone. Arya said nothing as he gently placed his hand on the half covered wound, spanning his fingers across it, his thumb on the top of her hip bone, his smallest finger on the far side of her ribs. Arya watched him carefully for a reaction.

"Why is it still not healed?" He asked, his voice hard.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "It could be that the blade was poisoned, perhaps, or that its just in a place that never heals. Its fine though, it doesn't bleed so much anymore," she said, hoping to comfort him.

Gendry's eyes never left the wound. "How can you say its fine?" He asked tersely. "Look at yourself, Arya."

"I know," she said, sitting up, his hand still pressed against her stomach. "I got my revenge though." He looked up, and Arya offered a small smile. "An acting friend took me in... but the assassin found her. Killed her. I barely escaped. She chased me through all of the streets and through the crowds; I tricked her though. Used my blood to leave a trail, and led her to a small room, where I had hidden Needle. I cut out the candle and... well, I fight best in the dark." Arya remembered how it had been, to cut out the candle, and wonder if she would ever see light again... whether she would die by the waif's dagger, or live to fight another day.

Gendry's face had not moved from its set in stone expression as he stared at her scars, lightly running trembling fingertips over the damaged skin. Arya knew how it looked; Sansa's reaction had been more than enough. But Gendry said nothing, though she noticed his throat bob a couple of times and his jaw clench. Without thinking Arya raised a hand to rub away the throb in his temple where his jaw was clenched so tight. At her touch Gendry seemed to relax just slightly, though Arya could still see how tense he was from the set of his huge shoulders, bathed in the orange glow of the fire.

Arya felt her stomach roll uncomfortably; what if she had been wrong to tell him? Now she was sure she shouldn't have said anything, he still hadn't moved from his position above her. What was he thinking? Arya was good at reading peoples faces, it was an instinct for her, but right now she didn't know what was going through Gendry's mind. She didn't know why she had told him all of that, it hadn't been her intention, but it just kind of... slipped out. It was strange; to willingly give up information without too much probing. She wasn't a silent sister, but Arya had barely spoken in the last few years, but all of a sudden- all Gendry had to do was ask a question, and it was like everything came flooding out. Arya turned her face away, regretting her decision in telling him anything, even if it wasn't the full truth. That she could never tell him. No one could ever know about what she had almost become.

She heard him let out a shaky breath, and bit her lip. It had been a bad decision, telling him. His hand was still pressed against her stomach, stretching from one side to the other with ease, tan on cream, burning hot. Arya wondered if she had always associated Gendry with heat.

She became aware of Gendry lifting his other hand and placing it gently but firmly behind her head, threading his fingers through her hair to turn her face towards his as they sat both beside and opposite one another in the dying light of the fire. Arya chewed her lip, sure that he was going to say that she was a silly little girl that couldn't look after herself, or that he would keep her even more watched than before, or-

"I'm sorry," He said in a deep tone, that brought Arya shivering from her depths of thought. "I'm so sorry for everything you suffered." His eyes seemed darker, cast in shadow, as he gazed down at her. Arya felt her own eyes widen slightly and her lips parted as she watched his eyelids drop slightly. Arya watched, as still as stone, as Gendry tentatively tilted his head forwards, his forehead press against hers, his fringe brushing her skin.

"Why?" She asked, her voice slightly rough as his hand flexed against her stomach. His breath fanned across her, his eyelashes fluttered gently against her skin, and Arya closed her eyes as it tickled.

"Because..." He hesitated for a moment. "Because it's my fault. If I hadn't chosen the Brotherhood, if I had stayed with you..." His voice was harsh with frustration for himself.

"Gendry?" Arya asked quietly, placing her hand over his on her stomach.

"Yeah?" His eyelashes brushed lightly against her skin as she placed her other hand on his shoulder.

"Shut up," Arya said, her voice just as rough. He breathed out a single laugh, and, slowly, tentatively pulled her head closer with his hand, his thumb under her jaw angling her face up as he gently pressed his lips to hers. His touch was so light that Arya thought that she might just be imagining it, if not for him pressing closer, brushing his own lips over hers. They were chapped, and slightly salty, and for a moment Arya froze, unsure what to do... she wouldn't- couldn't- do this... Could she? She was the one that had fought and fought against him... but she realised, as he made to pull away, that she did want it. So, before his lips left hers entirely, Arya tilted her face up a little and brushed hers over his.

Gendry accepted her response smoothly, bringing his hand to her cheek, his skin hot. Arya felt his hair brush against her skin again, and pressed closer, her hand that was on his shoulder moving to his collar bone and sliding down a ways as Gendry brushed his lips over hers, once and then twice again, before pressing a third kiss to her lips and pulling away, just enough that Arya could almost still feel his lips on hers. His forehead leaned against hers as they both exhaled softly, and Arya brought her finger tips to her tingling lips.

That was... not what she had expected. Kissing had always looked so... so... messy. All noises and spit and movement. But that had been careful, slow, soft, like a beam of yellow sunlight bathing cool skin in a soft glow. Like a breath of wind fluttering leaves on the trees, or waking up slowly from a dream and opening your eyes with a small smile as the dream slipped away...

Arya opened her eyes to see Gendry watching her very carefully, his blue eyes cautious and looking for any sign of resent in hers. Arya thought about what they had just done and felt a blush bloom on her cheeks. She bit her lip and looked down in embarrassment, but Gendry pressed his thumb under her jaw again and lifted her face to meet his eyes.

He looked as though he was about to say something, but Arya looked away again, and cleared her throat. "It's getting late," she said, slowly drawing away from him. "We ought to get some rest." She watched Gendry bow his head and exhale.

"You're right," he said, nodding, though he made no move to lie down or take his hand off of her stomach, nor Arya to take her hand off his. Arya chewed her lip and nodded once before turning and laying on her side. She heard Gendry sigh, and then lie down beside her, though his hand stayed cocooned in hers over her scar.

As Gendry seemed to drift off into sleep, his arm still lying across her side, Arya found her mind a blurring mess of questions. She didn't understand what had happened... or she did, but not why. She had been adamant that nothing could ever happen between them, pushed him away at every turn but she was sure that it was getting harder to... and what would everyone say? Worse, what would Jon say? Arya didn't want to think about what things would even be like between them in the morning. Perhaps if they both pretended it hadn't happened... but it HAD happened, and there was no ignoring it.

What if... no, Arya would not even finish the thought. She wasn't Sansa or some other stupid girl. She knew that one small kiss did not equate to falling in love. It was just one moment, she decided. A moment had at an intense time. They were both tired, sad and drawn from the past, it was natural... but then, why did her stomach feel warm, and flutter in a not bad way when she thought about the man behind her?

Arya closed her eyes in the hope that she might drift off, but long after the flames turned to embers and the moon rose high, Arya resigned herself to a sleepless night.

* * *

Jon felt his insides freeze as he read the letter. He had received it two days prior, but had not had time to even think about it or what it might contain. He hadn't even looked at the seal, but when he saw who it was from he ripped it open with haste.

Why would Gendry be writing if not because something had gone desperately wrong? Was Arya hurt? Had she finally managed run away? Killed someone? Jon just knew he should never have given her that sword before she left, he should have waited. It had been a matter of weeks since the Baratheon company departed Winterfell, and Jon would be leaving with Sansa for Kings Landing in a couple of days. There was a great deal weighing on his mind, and as he wondered what Arya could have possibly done to warrant a raven, he pressed his lips together in weariness; how much could one person deal with? He had the move to Kings Landing and formally becoming king to worry about, as well as the alliance with the Tyrells and having agreed to pay towards Sansa's wedding. Then there was his own to think of, with Dany, and organising for Bran to take control of Winterfell, and Meera was not yet back... what more could he take on?

But, as he read Gendry's words, his frustration abated, and his organs felt as though they had turned to ice, growing colder with each sentence. He read it through four times before he screwed it up and slammed it on the desk.. So there it was. The truth, or some of it, about Arya's time in slavery. Jon hadn't really understood what she meant when she had mentioned it once before in anger, had thought that she must have been some kind of sellsword, but Jon remembered the tales of what Euron did to those slaves, and how he treated them... and Arya had been one of them. Jon wondered if Euron had known just who he had had. Probably not. If he had... Jon did not even want to think about it. He'd have given her to Cersei most likely, and Jon couldn't even imagine the horrors that the queen would have put his sister through.

But the situation was a tricky one.

Jon wanted to raise his army and storm the iron men, capture Euron and see to it that he met a similar end to Ramsey Bolton... but how exactly does one go about storming a fleet of ships if you don't know where they are? Gendry had said they were at Cape Kraken, but that could have been weeks ago. Who was to say they weren't near Dorne somewhere by now? Besides, it was more complicated than that.

Euron had already been formally pardoned for his crimes, and just because Arya happened to be one of the slaves Jon couldn't go back on his word. No, they needed to be smart about this... but Jon was not the best of tacticians. He knew his battles better than any man, and could plan them to a point, but this wasn't a battle, it was a trap. And traps had to be laid by someone sneaky, someone sly enough to see all of the ins and outs. And Jon knew just the man for the job...

* * *

Arya winced as Gendry's arm tightened around her waist, squirming uncomfortably in his grasp. She remembered him as being easy to wake, but she had tried whispering his name and poking him, all to no avail. But Arya needed to get up, he was so hot, and her side was aching. Arya gently, but firmly extracted herself from his grip, and sat up slowly, sighing as the blood returned to her one arm. She stood and stretched, working the stiffness from her shoulders and neck, wincing as her back cricked uncomfortably. The fire had turned to dimly glowing embers, and she gently stocked at it until flames began to grow again.

As she turned around from her crouch, she smiled upon catching sight of Gendry, on his back, one leg pulled up and the other stretched out long at a tangent to the fire pit. Even asleep Arya couldn't believe how big he had grown since they were children- or at least, since she was a child. It was still so strange to think of him as a man grown; it felt as though they had been adults grown from when they first met, but seeing him now compared to then Arya realised how young and afraid they must have appeared to the Brotherhood when they were first caught. Children in an adults war. Forced to grow up too quickly. That must be why Jayce seemed so young despite his age; perhaps it was normal for boys that age to be like that. Arya wouldn't know; she had spent little time around people her own age.

She stood and wandered over to the crest of the hill, and looked out across the wide valley. She could see the glow of fires and silhouettes of tents in the camp, could even hear a few horses snorting, and beyond that she could hear the breeze rolling off the surface of the water, and beyond that... she could see the shadows of the two black towers.

And suddenly, where she had only been filled with the urge to put as much distance between herself and there as possible, Arya felt drawn to them. To see if it was as empty as she felt. It was perhaps a league, about two hours on foot, but with Astrid at the bottom of the hill... she estimated she could be there within a quarter of that.

Gendry sighed in his sleep behind her, and Arya bit her lip. There was no way that he would agree to her going there... but he had asked earlier. Arya felt the corner of her mouth twitch. _That was only because he was planning on sending a guard down with her, as paranoid as he is,_ Arya thought as she watched him stretch unconsciously, _he would be furious if you went alone._

Arya looked over her shoulder at the towers again and smirked. That was only if he found out though. Arya was sure that she could be back before he even woke; by the moons position in the sky Arya knew she had to have at least five hours before light. That was plenty of time; she could go there, look around, come back, and Gendry would never even need to know she had gone anywhere.

But as Arya picked up her sword belt quietly and buckled it around her waist, she thought that if he did wake, and found her missing, she would not like to be the first person he spoke to. With the thought in mind, Arya slipped silently and quickly into the shadows and down the bank, leaving Gendry alone by the fire.

 **Aaaay, Ok, not my longest chapter but it'll do! Woah, sorry about all of the dialogue, it was pretty hefty in this chapter, but hopefully I made up for it with their first kiss! Uuugh I was soo conflicted about this chapter- I wrote it, deleted it, re wrote it, deleted it, and then wrote the first one again! Well, I hope it was ok anyway. It was so hard though, because I had so many ideas about how it could pan out differently, but I went with this one... so no turning back! Anyway, I hope you all like it, I'll get to writing the next chapter! I'm sorry that its been so long between updates recently, I wouldn't blame anyone that gave up on me! Hopefully we'll be a bit on track from here on... until my next set of exams at any right :(((( As always, drop me a review or a pm to let me know what you're thinking, and thanks so much to those who do! It helps so much to hear your feedback! Anyway, hope you're enjoying the story so far, Over and Out xox**


	21. The Shadow Cat

**DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN, DON'T HAVE RIGHTS, THAT JAZZ**

 **Ok my mans, not too much to say, just a big thanks to my reviewers and pm-ers! You're all so lovely, thank you so much :D A couple of questions that came up... the letter that Jon opened was the one that Gendry had mentioned he sent a couple of chapters ago- when Gendry makes Arya promise not to go looking for Euron (She lied!) and Arya makes him promise in return to not tell Jon (He also lies!) Aaagh they're both such liars! Anyway, so Arya doesn't know about it, and Jon wants to do something but knows that legally he can't- so he's gong to play the smarter game, dun, Dun, DuUN! So that's it from me, I hope you like this chapter, let me know your thoughts! Over and Out xox**

Arya glided silently down the steep slope, which grew darker as she left the glow of the fire. Nimbly she hopped over a small overhang, and skidded on her heels down a particularly steep part. Apart from the shifting of dirt and leaves underneath her there was no sound or disturbance, and Arya smiled with satisfaction as she brushed herself down at the bottom. She straightened up and looked around, her heart stopping when she saw a fire about twenty yards away; Jayce. Gendry had said the boy was still with the horses. Arya stifled a groan as she crept closer; she could see the silhouette of the horses, Astrid thankfully being the closer of the two, trust up to a tree. As she crept near she saw Jayce curled up by the fire pit, fast asleep, with a saddle blanket rolled up under his head. Arya smiled; he looked younger in his sleep, and she could almost imagine what he would have looked like as a boy.

Astrid raised her head as Arya came into view, her ears twitching attentively and neck taut. Upon catching sight of Arya the mare let out a soft nicker, softly tossing her mane.

"Shhh, girl," Arya said reaching up to rub the mares forehead, "you've gotta be quiet, alright?" The mare seemed to understand, and Arya untied the knot in her reins. Her saddle was next to Jayce, but Arya didn't fuss- she was perfectly happy without one.

Quiet as a shadow, she thought as she neatly swung herself up onto Astrid's back. Swift as a deer, as she manouvered the mare around, walking here quietly away... when Rogue snorted behind them and let out a nicker as he pawed the ground as if to say "Where are YOU going?"

"No, no boy," Arya shushed at the stallion as he walked backwards. "Shh, quiet- you'll wake him up-" Arya cast an eye at Jayce, who rolled over in his sleep. Rogue whickered again, louder, tossing his glossy black mane in the air and stamping on the ground.

Jayce mumbled something and Arya wheeled Astrid around; there was a chance that Rogue would break free to follow, but if she didn't go now then she wouldn't get a chance to go again on her own. Clucking her tongue she urged Astrid into a soft canter, sticking to where the ground appeared softest, to try to make less noise. She checked behind her to make sure that Rogue was still tied up, though he was fussing at her leaving him there. Once she was far enough away, Arya pushed up in the stirrups to allow the horse to stretch her back out, and allowed her her head.

She skirted around the edge of camp, slowing to a walk to keep the noise minimal; she knew there were likely several scouts and watchers, so she had to be quiet. Once past, she allowed the horse to go again, galloping along the hill crest, bathed in moonlight, her hair whipping out behind her as she balanced in the stirrups. Following the natural ridge line path Arya made good time, until she slowed to a trot and then a walk as they approached the gates to the first castle.

Arya surveyed the area from horseback; it was... eerie, to see it all so still and quiet. An old flag rippled in the wind, though in the dark Arya couldn't make out who it may have belonged to. Arya still didn't understand how her uncle could have left it so unmanned; the crossing was vital, yet Edmure had left it abandoned, keeping all of his men at Riverrun. Arya screwed up her nose; it made no sense to just leave it like this. Perhaps he had some plan for it, or maybe not enough men to arm both Riverrun and the Crossing, but Arya remained unconvinced.

As they reached the gates Arya swung off of the mares back, and led her underneath the large rectangular archway, and into the yard. It was how she had remembered it; the first time she had seen it had been with the Hound, and she hadn't been paying much attention to the layout then, but when she had come back a year or so prior Arya had mapped it out in her mind, memorised it perfectly. She had refused to make an error, no matter how small it was. Thinking back, Arya led Astrid left, and around the corner, where there were some loose boxes. She put the slightly puffing horse in, and, with a rub behind the ear and a promise not to be long, walked down the way. After a minute she located the small wooden stairs that went down to the kitchens, and Arya smiled as she stood at the top...

The first step creaked ominously, and Arya pulled out her sword for protection, just in case something was down there. She went down slightly sideface, her sword held loosely and pointed up. The door appeared stiff, and she struggled with the iron thumb latch for a moment, wiggling it up and down, before yes! The door creaked open, sinking on the hinges. Arya peered through into the pitch black, cursing herself for not bringing a torch, but she was sure there would be one, or a candle perhaps, inside. She stepped in, tightening her grip on the sword.

It smelled musty, and stale, and she could hear the scurrying of rats on the dusty flagstone floor. She reached to the side of the door, fumbling slightly, until she found a frame of long wax candles. She grabbed a hold of one, cringing as a spider scuttled over her wrist. She shook it off and ripped the candle sharply from its slot; it felt gritty, and webs caught around her fingers, though Arya brushed them off impatiently. Making her way deeper into the kitchen, she headed towards where she remembered a wooden side board being, in which there was a draw full of flint and wool. With her hand reached out, Arya crept cautiously forwards until she felt the corner end, before running her hand along the splintered edge, until she came to a row of draws. She inched one open and cautiously reached inside, but it was empty; she tried the next one down, and smiled as she found them.

Crouching on the floor, Arya struck the flint at the wool, but then hesitated; was it really a good idea to light a candle in a place like this? Arya knew that she could find her way in the dark with no difficulty... but she wanted to see the place her family had died. When she had been before, to make her revenge, she had not had the chance to really feel anything. To just be there was not enough; Arya needed to see, to truly feel the place where thy had perished. Arya struck the flint again, igniting the wool. The candle sprung forth in light, and Arya gripped the bottom and looked around as the room filled with a dim glow. The light didn't reach all of the way across, the corners of the room still bathed in shadow, but she could see well enough.

The kitchen was long and narrow, with long work benches and head high cupboards built into the walls. Arya smirked as her eyes landed on the stone oven, set into the wall, where she had baked Walder Freys sons. It was a good oven; she had burned the bottom of the pastry a little. Arya chuckled as she imagined Hot Pie telling her to brown the butter beforehand; he would like this kitchen, even if he would be afraid of ghosts or the like.

Arya made her way towards the door that led to a series of winding stone steps, keeping her sword at the ready, though she didn't truly expect for anyone to jump out at her. At the top was a small stone landing, the floor still scattered with moldy rushes. She brushed over them quickly, the heads crunching underneath her boots. Thick grey cobwebs wound their way around the three doors, but Arya ignored them, heading straight for the passage on the left. Her footsteps echoed in the eerie silence, and Arya placed her hand on the wall to make sure she didn't bump into it, running her hand along the rough stone. A sharp edge caught the pad of her thumb but Arya ignored the brief sting, and stopped at the double doors in front of her. She placed her foot against it and pushed; the door swung open and Arya stepped inside.

The Great Hall wasn't full of bodies anymore, but it had the same sort of feeling, the atmosphere thick and heavy, claustrophobic to breathe in. The door that she had passed through came out on the left of the raised platform where the Lord was supposed to dine, and Arya made her way along the old table, still set out with heavy plates and jugs. She stopped at the Lords Chair, and ran her hand along the back of it as she surveyed the wooden balconies where the band played, and the servants waited.

She shifted her eyes along the perimeter of the room and felt anger spike in her heart; this was the last place her mother and brother ever saw. A dingy wood and stone hall, decorated with barbed iron candle holders and ugly suits of armour. Her brother had belonged in the North, surrounded by snow and grey sky and open air. Her mother belonged at Riverrun, with the warm summer rains and dense green plants and glimmering blue rivers. Not this place, of mud and drizzle and driftwood.

Arya breathed out tersely in anger, wishing she could slit Walder Freys throat all over again, when she saw something.

A shadow that did not belong to her. She wasn't alone.

* * *

"Milord!" Jayce said, shaking Gendry's shoulder urgently.

Gendry woke immediately, his eyelids snapping open instantly. Jayce hovered over them, appearing anxious. Gendry groaned and sat up, forcing the boy to shimmy back on his heels lest he be knocked off balance.

"What is it?" Gendry asked, rolling his shoulders. "Is something wrong at ca-" he broke off when he realised it was just the two of them. Instantly his face clouded with anger, and he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his sword belt as he did so. She had been right there, asleep in his arms! Gendry cursed; how could he have not woken?

"How long?" He asked, stamping out the embers as best he could, before heading towards the slope, Jayce hot on his heels.

"I can't be exactly sure," the boy began, "but not long, maybe fifteen minutes, but no more." He struggled to keep up with Gendry's long strides, but Gendry refused to slow down as he shrugged his jerking into place. "I woke up to Rogue having a fit, and Astrid was gone, but I thought I could just hear a horse heading away from us," the boy explained as he clambered over a log that Gendry barely bothered to pick his feet up for.

Gendry nodded once. "And you came straight to me?" He asked. Jayce nodded, and Gendry relaxed- a tiny bit. He knew where she would be headed; where else would she have gone to in this manner? She might refuse to accept it, but Gendry knew her, knew the way her mind worked. When he had offered to take her down earlier he had known she would refuse, but the fact she would sneak off in the night was just plain stupid!

He felt a surge of anger at the girl; she knew as well as he did that it was a dangerous place, likely frequented as a hideout for thieves and outlaws. And not outlaws like the Brotherhood either. She could have just asked him, there was no need to sneak away... though perhaps he could see why. Gendry was not bullheaded enough to not admit that had she asked he would never have let her go at night alone, and that was what she wanted no doubt. At least she had had the good sense to take her sword with her.

Gendry threw on Rogues saddle, ignoring the stallions snort of protest, and mounted. Jayce handed him his sword belt and Gendry tied it around his waist, buckling it securely.

"What shall I do?" Jayce asked eagerly as Gendry wheeled the horse around.

"Nothing!" He snapped, taking his frustrations out on his squire, before catching the stable boys face. "Alright, just... go and warn Lem and Anguy. Tell them to get to the Twins as quick as possible!" And without waiting for a response Gendry kicked his heels in and shot off, leaving Jayce behind at the treeline.

Gendry cursed Arya again in his head- why did she have to be so stubborn? He knew that she thought she didn't need his help but to go alone was a new level of stupidity and pigheadedness. But the part that pissed him off most? She had said that he wouldn't wake up to find her gone. She had said that, and then disappeared while he slept, explicitly because she knew he wouldn't let her go! She was directly going against him, when he had warned her over and over, time and time again. Gendry was fed up of this, of her risking her safety just to prove something. Gendry knew she was capable, he knew that- so why did she have to keep pushing it? Every time he tried to help her with anything, she either refused or grudgingly allowed it if it was minor. She didn't have to prove anything to him.

"Seven Hells!" Gendry growled, leaning over Rogues neck and urging him on. It was time for Arya to stop doing this- she could be walking into a trap, and Gendry doubted that she hadn't thought of that already- and still gone anyway. Gendry felt a sickness wind itself tightly in his gut as he thought of what could be happening to her right now; those towers could have anyone sheltering there, bandits, outlaws- ironborn. Gendry shuddered.

It had been Gendry that had suggested that Edmure Tully withdraw his forces from the castle; it was exactly the sort of place to draw in people like that. If it was common knowledge that the place was unguarded, raiders and such would be likely to use it as a base of sorts, and then Tully patrols would check it to see if anyone had done so. That way, Edmure had all of his men at Riverrun and a way to trap anyone who could be a threat... which was why it was so dangerous for Arya to be there!

What if there were ironborn there? Or someone that held with the Frey boy? There was a great number of people that may wish to do her harm, and she was there alone! Gendry had no doubt that she could win any fair fight, probably most unbalanced ones too, but what could one small girl do against a group of thugs? Arya was very skilled with a blade, probably more refined than he was himself, but for all of that, she just couldn't withstand against a group of men. Arya was dangerous, Gendry knew that... there was a sort of aura that surrounded her at times that screamed so, but so were the iron men. What if she had already been hurt? Gendry urged Rogue on faster.

But... what if he was wrong? He felt his abdomen clench at the thought that perhaps she hadn't just recklessly sneaked off, but had... deliberately run away? After all, she had proclaimed it often and loudly enough that she would one day- had she not been talking about it earlier, and what Gendry would do if she did? No... Gendry didn't think she would do that. She had made a promise, a promise of one year. He didn't think she would break it... but what if she did? Even after...

Gendry hadn't meant to kiss her, but in that moment she had been so irresistible. The way she glowed in the fire light, the way that she seemed both strong and vulnerable as she allowed him to see her scars... the feeling of her in his hand and her eyelashes brushing his skin... it had been captivating, and Gendry couldn't help himself. And she hadn't pulled away, she'd kissed him back, even just a little.

The kiss had been so innocent, just a soft brush of lips, but it had ignited a fire in him that Gendry had never experienced before. The night she had had the nightmare Gendry had felt a hot rush of protectiveness, and he had watched her carefully the next day, though she seemed to have no memory of it, something that concerned him- was she having them regularly enough that it wasn't out of place? But that feeling, that heat, had felt so different to kissing her. Gendry had kissed plenty of girls before, slept with almost as many, but he had never-never- felt even a semblance of that soft kiss with Arya.

But... what if it had scared her away?

Arya was brave and reckless and acted every bit the warrior- but Gendry could see that was just what it was sometimes: an act. There was no doubt that the girl had every bit as much bravery as his warriors, but that didn't mean that she didn't have fears, something that Gendry was starting to understand. She put on a brave face and behaved tough and strong, but there were times when Gendry could see glimpses of vulnerability. As a child her face was always stony and blank unless it was rigidly carved with anger, but underneath it all, Arya was just like any other person, and as such had fears like any other person, whether she refused to admit it or not- which Gendry strongly suspected she did.

It was clear that fighting, pain, death- these things didn't scare her, maybe went so far as to thrill her- it was other things. Things like the thought of settling into a domesticated life... with him. Perhaps the kiss had driven her over the edge. Gendry had noticed that she had begun to let her guard down around him more often, but the second something triggered a response in her, that wall went straight back up, and Gendry would be damned if he even tried to knock it down again. No, whether Arya agreed or not, Gendry did know her; and her only defense was to hide behind her anger.

The towers loomed ever closer, and Gendry slowed the black stallion to a trot and finally a walk, leading him through the yard, and as he did so noticed a dim light in a window. Gendry had been to the Twins only once, a retreat during the war, fighting against Cersei's forces, and knew little of the castles layout, but it was easy enough to spot where Arya had been; Astrid was tied up in a loose box to the left of the yard, so he hastily did the same with Rogue before pulling out his longsword. As he surveyed the yard, Gendry thought he saw a movement and turned around, but there was nothing there... and the light that had been shining in the window moments before, had gone out. Gendry charged for the nearest door in as he heard the clash of metal on metal...

* * *

Arya span around quickly as the shadow disappeared, and tightened her grip on her sword. Stupid, stupid! She should have never lit the candle. It was too late now, whoever it was must have seen her, or else been blind. As Arya cautiously made her way towards the place the shadow had been a door slammed behind her, and she heard the scrape of iron on iron- someone had locked the main doors.

This wasn't just some bandit sheltering in the old keep- this was someone dangerous, someone with a plan. How long had they known of her presence? Since she had lit the candle? Before? Arya dared not go back down the narrow passage she had come along, but the main doors were locked. Thinking quickly Arya decided she had three options: Try and go back down the narrow passage way and winding stairs to the cellar kitchen and get to Astrid, go after whoever was there, or stay where she was.

If she stayed in the Hall she would be trapped- there were two ways out from here if she remembered correctly; one was the way to the kitchen, the way she had come, and the other was through the second door in the little side passage, and up a second set of winding stairs. From there there were multiple passages and then a small under chamber with a hatchet door. Arya quickly surmised the advantages and disadvantages, weighing them up in her mind. The second way was risky; not only would she be heading off through a castle she didn't know as well as she had, but she would be chasing after whoever had darted around the corner, taking their shadow with them. Thinking quickly Arya decided there had to be at least two; one who owned the shadow, and one to lock the doors- no one person could be at both sides of the wing at once, but it was more likely to be group. A group with ill intent, or else, why would they lock the door?

The way she had come seemed her best chance- it was narrow, and if someone followed her she would be trapped in the kitchen, but the other way was too risky. Making up her mind, Arya set off towards the spiral stairs that led to the kitchen, her footsteps fast and light on the ground, though Arya felt as though her heart made enough noise to wake the dead.

 _Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow, fear cuts deeper than swords._ Arya peered around the corner, her sword at the ready, but no one was there. Heart in her throat, Arya cautiously made her way down the narrow passage, keeping as close as possible to the wall. _Quick as a snake, calm as still water, fear cuts deeper than swords._ She rounded a rough bend and stopped suddenly as she heard a loud clang, though she didn't know where it came from, as it echoed from both ends of the passage. _Strong as a bear, fierce as a wolverine, fear cuts deeper than swords._ Arya tiptoed down the stairs as quickly as she could, when she heard something...

Something outside. Or someone.

Arya pressed forwards a step and peered out the window; a person was out there, with a sword. It had to be a foe, no one else knew she was here. The person suddenly moved and Arya gasped as she could have sworn whoever it was was staring straight at her. She smacked the candle against the wall, extinguishing it, and plunging herself into pure darkness. She heard footsteps from that direction- they had seen her. Arya turned around; who was to say that they didn't have friends with them? Her only choice was to try and make it to the second way hatch in the west wing on the castle.

Arya ran swiftly through the passageway, her sword at the ready when there was a flash of movement, and a shout. Arya brought her sword up just in time to meet the attackers, the metal ringing loudly and reverberating through the stone passage. Arya twisted the blade and thrust, catching whoever it was in the shoulder. He yelled and went down, and Arya was surprised at the lack of fight he had put up- when she remembered; he couldn't see.

 _The man who fears losing has already lost, fear cuts deeper than swords._

The corridor was pitch black, but Arya felt her instincts take over, the ones drilled into her as a Faceless man, and she knew just where to go, where to move. Just in time Arya heard a door crash open loudly, somewhere below her- the person outside was gaining quickly. Arya kicked the body into the middle of the corridor, hoping he might trip the other up in the darkness, and progressed back up the passageway, sword aloft. She could hear voices in the Great Hall as she neared the tiny antechamber, and paused to listen in the shadows.

"She's here somewhere!" A rough voice snarled, followed by a succession of curses. "I told you to bar the door!"

"I did!" Someone snapped back. Arya peered around the corner, relieved to see that they had only a candle each rather than a torch- three men, she didn't recognise them.

"Then where is she- we sent Chaff down that way and he ain't come back yet, and we were up the other end and we didn't see her," one man snarled, "so mind telling me- where the fuck is she?" Arya felt her heart skip a beat as they said it; the way ahead was clear, they thought she was trapped somewhere behind. Taking a chance, Arya pressed herself closer to the wall and edged to the second set of stairs, hoping she would find no one at the top- these stairs were tight and from her direction, impossible to swing a sword. Arya hesitated; if there was someone at the top she would be hit, perhaps there was another way, she just had to think-

She heard footsteps somewhere below, and turned around on instinct but there was no one there but her imagination. No she would have to go up. Arya skipped up the steps quickly, turning around in the tight space, careful not to trip on the steep steps when she suddenly hit something hard.

"There you are!" A man growled, reaching out blindly for her. Arya staggered back a step and ducked while he grasped about in thin air, and yanked the dagger out of her boot, before thrusting it up somewhere between where she thought his legs must be. Her knife struck flesh and the man screamed in agony as blood poured out onto Arya's arm. There was no going back now, she could already hear the men from the hall running towards them. She pulled the knife out and struck again, slashing at an artery in his leg. He screamed again, and Arya knocked him over and stabbed at his throat.

He gurgled and withered, before he went limp, but Arya had already reached the top of the stairs. She darted towards a door, only for two more men to come thundering through. Arya hoped to slip past them in the dark, but a shout came from below and she cursed mentally.

"She's up there!" Bellowed one of the three men from the hall as they charged up the stairs. Before the man closest to her could reply, Arya plunged her sword through his chest, and he fell the second she withdrew. The second man slashed blindly at her, and Ara hopped backwards to escape the edge of his blade. She heard the swish of steel above her and brought her sword up just before his attack crashed through the top of her skull.

Before she could finish him off the others reached the top of the chamber, and Arya ducked down quickly as the one she was fighting wrung his sword again... but instead of hitting her, his blade caught his unsuspecting friend, who yelled as the tip of the blade caught him. Arya crept backwards until she hit the wall, but an unintercepted blade nicked her left arm and she gasped as it bit into her flesh.

"There's someone there!" The person who dealt the blow shouted, gesturing blindly with his sword at Arya, who flinched backwards to avoid the blade, aware of the blood dripping down her arm- her sword arm. As she flinched backwards she hit something hard- but not hard enough to be the wall.

* * *

Gendry leaped down a set of wooden steps towards a door that was left a jar- Arya must have come through there. He ploughed in, his sword raised up and ready, but he met no resistance. It was pitch black and impossible to see, and Gendry found himself staggering blindly through the room. He could hear vague noise upstairs, footsteps and voices. A chill ran down his spine and he moved a bit faster, standing on something soft, glad that he could not see what it was. Not a step later he stood on something hard, sharp... he bent down to pick it up, running it over in his fingers; flint. Arya must have used it to strike her candle alight. How had she known where it was kept?

Gendry shook his head- he had a more important thing to think about. He progressed as fast as he could in the pitch dark, praying to the old Gods and the new that reinforcements would arrive soon. He managed to find a wall, and stuck close to it, turning a rough corner before he found a doorway. He crossed through and reached blindly into the dark but there was nothing there, and he made his way along some short space before he came to a narrow winding staircase.

As he reached the bottom he could here noises drifting down, footsteps coming towards him. Arya? Or an enemy? Gendry didn't even hesitate as he charged up, struggling in the tight space that was barely any wider than his shoulders. Above him the footsteps stopped, and then, he thought, retreated. Gendry hastened, moving as quickly as he could up the narrow winding steps, stumbling and tripping several times before he reached the top.

Blinking blindly Gendry pulled himself up, and edged his way along the passageway, keeping close to the wall, bumping into columns on the way. As he progressed Gendry heard voices, just snatches of conversation, that made his blood boil; he had been right; whoever was here meant to hurt Arya, though it wasn't clear as to whether they knew who she was or not. But where was she? Gendry hoped that she was alright, wherever she was. He brought his sword forwards just a little-

-and suddenly caught his foot on something firm. He fell with a rush of air, landing on whatever it was... or rather, whoever. A person. A dead body. Gendry already knew from its size that it couldn't possibly be Arya, but he checked frantically, cringing when his hands brushed over warm sticky blood. Suddenly. ahead of him somewhere, there was a loud yell of agony. Gendry jumped up- it was clearly a man that had screamed, but who else would have killed him but Arya? As far as Gendry knew the only people in the castle were the outlaws, or whoever they were, and Arya and himself. There was a rush of footsteps and calling from somewhere ahead of him, followed by a shorter scream that was cut off suddenly.

Gendry hastened onwards, thoughtlessly charging towards the source of the noise, ad praying to whatever Gods were up there that Arya had not come to any harm.

* * *

"I've got her!" A rasping voice said from above her head as their arm wrapped around her tightly. Thinking quickly, Arya smashed her head back, and there was a satisfying crunch of teeth and bone as her skull smacked into his mouth. The man cursed violently and flew backwards, taking her with him a step, though never relinquishing his hold on her.

Arya braced herself against the floor as she heard another person move towards her, and when she was sure they were close, pushed off of the ground, bringing her feet up and slamming them into the attackers chest. The motion caused the first man to loosen his grip on her and Arya was able to reach a spare knife, grasp it and jam it between his ribs.

He let go with an agonising shout, dropping her on the floor, but not without knocking the hilt of his sword against her temple. She was dimly aware of noise coming from the stairs when a pair of feet passed her by. Arya yanked her dagger from the mans still writhing body an slashed at his calf. With a satisfying shout he fell, and Arya plunged her knife into his back.

She jumped up and looked for the others- there were six, where were the other three? She listened carefully, and could hear something on the stairs, a fight- they must have mistaken each other for her. Arya darted through the closest doorway- and straight into another person.

The impact sent them both reeling to the floor, and Arya ended up on the bottom, trapped beneath him. His hands scrabbled at hers, ad his fingers dug into her wound, causing her to gasp as pain flared violently down her arm and up her shoulder.

"You little bitch!" The man growled, sitting back on her hips, his feet hooked over her legs. "Just wait, wait til the others get here."

Arya yelled through gritted teeth and tried to bring a knee up between his legs, but she couldn't. For a moment Arya felt a flare of panic; she had no weapon, she was trapped, he was going to call for the others. His hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed there, before wandering down. Arya shrieked as he grabbed her breast roughly, and then he was gone- lifted off by some invisible force. Arya took in a shuddering breath as there was a yell, and warm blood sprayed onto the floor between her legs.

* * *

As Gendry neared the second set of stairs there was a yell from behind him, and he raised his sword just in time to catch a blade that was meant to split his skull open. He pushed the person away with a grunt, and stepped backwards. Unable to see Gendry kept his sword up, yet again catching a sword just in time, but something grabbed him from behind and yanked him off balance. He pushed backwards with all of his weight, crushing them between himself and the wall. He heard bones crunch, and ripped the body out from behind him, flinging it at the other attacker long enough to regain his balance.

He could hear the sounds of battle upstairs, and his heart beat as heard a distinctly feminine cry of pain. He renewed his efforts and charged at the closest man, grabbing what he assumed was his arm and pulling him in to stick his blade through him. The person died immediately, falling limp on Gendry's blade. Gendry put his foot on the body and pushed it off wetly.

He was disoriented by the darkness, didn't know which way to turn, when to his left there was a shout and Gendry flinched back just enough to miss the blade that was swung at his chest. He brought his sword up and over his shoulder, swinging it down with all of his might. The blade sliced through the mans shoulder, right down to his heart, as the Hound had done to Lord Dondarrion so long ago. The man fell to his knees, and then his face, his final exhale rattling past his lips, but Gendry had already stepped over him to silence the man he had crushed, lifting the point of his sword straight up. The man begged for mercy, just as Gendry slammed his sword down and into his heart, twisting the blade on the way out.

He barely stopped for breath as he charged for the stairs; whoever was upstairs must have heard the fight downstairs, as Gendry was met with another man on the stairs. Gendry cursed; the space was too small to swing a blade, hell he could barely even move as it was! Gendry roared in fury as he heard another small gasp at the top of the stairs, sure that it was Arya, some strangers sword stuck in her throat because he was too late, too late to save her...

Gendry shoulder barged the man in front of him, slamming him into the man behind; both fell, though the front mans sword caught Gendry on the calf, though he barely noticed it. There wasn't space to swing a sword, but there was plenty to bring one up and plunge it down, down through the first man and straight through the second. Gendry twisted the blade again, just to make sure, before leaping over them and pulling himself up over the top.

A single small window, high up on the wall, allowed a little moonlight in, and Gendry could see three if not more bodies strewn over the floor of the small ante chamber- were any of them Arya? Gendry was about to lean down and check, his heart buzzing in his chest when he heard a shriek from the side.

He grabbed his sword as he strode over to the doorway, ready to rip whoever was hurting her to pieces. It was darker in there, and he couldn't see as well, but a few feet in there were two bodies on the floor, one atop the other. Gendry's eyes adjusted just in time to see the man roughly grab the small girls chest, and it was then that fury over took.

Gendry reached them in one long stride, not even bothering with his sword as he grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him bodily from Arya. The man yelled in fear just before Gendry snapped his neck effortlessly, and plunged a knife into the mans gut. Blood exploded from the wound, pouring to the floor in hot torrents. Gendry stood breathing harshly through his teeth, lips pulled back as he snarled at the dead body, still suspended. He dropped it unceremoniously to the side, before staring down at the small figure on the floor.

* * *

Arya gasped as Gendry grasped her by the arms and hoisted her up effortlessly, crashing her tightly into his chest. Arya stood as still as a stone, before bringing her arms up and squeezing them around his waist. But almost the second that she did, Gendry put his hands on her shoulders and pushed away, holding her out from him as he ran his eyes over her.

"You're hurt," he said seeing the gash on her arm and the cut on her temple. Arya made to shake her head; honestly, they were nothing. But Gendry had already ripped a strip from his shirt and pressed it gently to her temple, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the weak light. Arya offered him a small smile, which he didn't return. Arya felt her eyebrows dip a little in confusion- what was he mad about now?

"Was that all of them?" He asked, as he motioned for her to press the wad of shirt to her temple so that he could check her arm. Arya refrained from rolling her eyes; it was a graze, nothing more.

"I think so," Arya said, trying to think. "When did you get here? Wait- you followed me here?!" She asked incredulously, frowning up at him.

He scowled down at her. "Yes, and you're lucky I did," he snapped, an aura of fury suddenly swelling around him. Arya closed her eyes briefly and sighed- he wasn't ever going to let this go. She made to turn and walk out of the room, but Gendry caught her arm. Before he could start shouting, Arya turned and checked the door. "Look, shout at me once we're out of here, alright? Or do you want to see if this lot had back up?" Gendry glared at her like he very much wanted to argue, but he didn't and Arya sighed in relief before leading the way out.

As they passed the bodies littering the antechamber, there was a choked groan from near Arya's heels. Arya stopped in her tracks, and crouched down next to a twitching body. Gendry stood behind her, and she could almost feel how tense he was.

The man was the one that had grabbed her from behind, and was bleeding profusely from his ribs, where her knife must have sunken in deep; from his wheezing breath Arya guessed she had also punctured a lung. She grasped his lapels and he groaned.

"Ple-please," he choked, clutching one bloody hand over hers. "Please..."

"Who are you?" Arya demanded, giving him a small shake. He shook his head and moaned again, and Arya pressed her bent knee against his wound. He cried out in agony until she lifted her knee off again. "Who are you?" She asked again, louder. She heard Gendry curse behind her under his breath, but ignored him.

"No-no one," the man croaked. "Help me please, mer- mercy. I beg you." His eyes rolled behind his head but refocused when Arya lightly slapped his cheek.

"Tell me who sent you," Arya said, "And I'll grant you mercy." The man cried out again, and Arya suddenly smelled his fear from his breeches.

"Just some boy," the man croaked, blood trickling from his nose. "Gave us a bag of gold to wait here until you came. Please," he begged.

"How did he know I would come?" Arya asked sharply, as her insides filled with dread; she had hoped they were just random thugs. The man had gone quiet and his eyes rolled, so she shook him again. "How did he know?" She demanded.

"Arya," Gendry muttered, nudging her back with his knee.

"Please," his voice was weak. "I don't kn-know anything else. I told you all I know, now help me. You said." Arya sighed; he clearly hadn't been the mastermind of the attack. She grabbed the knife from her belt, and his eyes widened in fear as she slit his throat. He choked twice and then lay still. Arya wiped the blade on his jacket.

"Valar Morghulis," she whispered, touching her brow. She stood and made to walk away, but Gendry caught her arm.

"What was that?" He demanded. "You promised him mercy." He gestured at the body with his sword.

Arya shrugged. "And I gave to him. Besides," she said, sticking her knife carefully into her belt, "I promised nothing. Now, shall we go?" She tried to wrench her arm from his grip, but Gendry shook his head.

"I'll go first," he said in a tone that brokered no argument. Arya rolled her eyes again, but didn't argue. He held her gaze for a moment and then stepped in front of her. Arya used the opportunity to wince; the blow to her head had left her slightly dizzy. Gendry led the way to the steep staircases, where they found another man there dying. Arya made to question him, but Gendry held his arm out and stopped her. Arya looked at him questioningly, but he just shook his head, raised his sword and plunged it into the mans chest.

"We could have asked him if he knew who paid them," Arya hissed in disbelief as the last person who might be able to tell them shuddered still.

"He didn't," Gendry snapped, his tone harsh as he stepped over the body, before picking her up by the waist and lifting her over the two carcasses. Arya bit her tongue, knowing that anything else that she had to say was not going to improve the situation. They spiraled the staircases and walked through the long kitchen. As they neared the exit Arya shivered in relief at feeling a cool breeze wash over her skin; she hadn't realised hows still it had been in the castle.

Arya followed him up the steps, and across the yard, struggling to keep pace with him. "Gendry I don't understand why you're so mad," she said, grabbing his arm to stop him. "We're fine now, so why are you still angry?"

Gendry spun around and stepped menacingly towards her. "Why am I angry?" He said loudly. Arya moved back a step as her rounded on her. "You told me earlier that I wouldn't wake up to find you gone!" He yelled. "You knew how dangerous it was to come here alone, and you did it anyway! Explain it to me, Arya, because I don't understand- are you reckless or just stupid?" He grabbed her shoulder and shook her lightly, and Arya wrenched out of his grip, her eyes narrowed.

"What about you?" she said, gesturing at him. "You won't ever just leave me alone and let me be! I'm sick of it! Is it any wonder that I sneak off sometimes?" She shouted, anger crackling between them.

Gendry thrust his hand out at the castle. "Sneaking off is somewhat different to breaking into a castle alone- a castle renowned for violence and danger!"

"I know how to look after myself!" Arya shouted again, pushing him in the chest, though he barely seemed to feel it.

"Yeah, it looks like it!" Gendry bellowed, leaning forwards so that his face was above her own, forcing her to crank her neck to glare at him. "You're doing a very strange job of it, if you think looking after yourself is getting knocked to the floor and choked!" He grabbed her roughly by the upper arms and shook her violently while she twisted in his grip. "Do you know what I thought when I heard you cry out? I thought you were dead!" His voice was so loud that Arya was certain that he must have woken up the company a whole league away.

Arya grew tired of him shaking her, and tried to push him off, her hands flat against his chest, but he didn't move an inch, and Arya cursed in fury. "I don't need you!" She shouted as she hit his chest with the side of her fist. "I didn't need you're help, I was just fine on my own!" She smacked him again, but Gendry just grasped both her hands together in his one.

He laughed loudly, a cold and angry laugh of mocking and Arya swelled with fury. "You were disarmed!" He shouted, shaking her again. "He had you on your back, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other on your teat! You were not fine!" Arya grit her teeth and growled, finally wrenching free, though she suspected it was only because Gendry finally let go.

She span away, almost crippling with anger, her hands grasping at her hair as she groaned in suppressed rage. "I survived things that you can never imagine!" Arya snapped. "So don't you dare say that I can't look after myself. I don't need some big strong man to come and fix all of my problems!" Gendry scoffed at her reply, and stalked towards her dangerously.

"If I hadn't come you would still be on your back," Gendry snarled, towering over her.

Blinded by fury Arya tightened her left fist and smashed it into his face. There was a loud crack as Gendry's face flew to the side, but it wasn't Gendry who cursed in pain.

"Seven Hells!" She hissed, clutching her hand to her chest and staggering back in blind agony. "Fuck!" She yelled out a groan through clenched teeth, seething and cursing.

"Let me look," Gendry said firmly, though not unkindly. Arya glared at him and marched off towards Astrid, untying her one handed as Gendry stopped behind her.

"I'm fine," Arya snapped tersely, though she didn't protest when Gendry turned her around and gently lifted up her hand.

He studied it for a moment, and sighed. "I'm no expert, but I think its broken. We'll get you back so that someone can bind it up." He sighed and scrubbed his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. That was unworthy of me." Arya grit her teeth as she watched him.

The anger still simmered there... but Arya felt it slowly begin to subside. She supposed that he had the right of it; Arya had known it was a risky and stupid thing to do, but had done it anyway. She had wanted to see the place her family were murdered, but... maybe it was more because she had wanted, nae needed, to do something reckless, to rebel against Gendry. As she watched him carefully in the dark, Arya felt a worm of guilt in her stomach. The kiss had shaken her, and she had wanted to do something dangerous to push it out of her mind, to reassure herself that she was still her, and not some lovesick fool- which she wasn't. Arya groaned and shut her eyes.

"I'm sorry too," she ground out. "I shouldn't have gone off like that."

Gendry clearly hadn't forgiven her, but he did nod in acceptance. "Just promise me that you'll never do it again." Arya faltered, and Gendry shook his head with exasperation, pushing his hair out of his face. "Arya, let me make one thing clear:" Arya narrowed her eyes. "If you ever risk your life like that again, I swear to the Old Gods and the New that I will have you chained to me at all times!" He glared down at her, still holding her hand lightly. Arya searched his face for all signs of jape, but he was deadly serious.

Arya pinched the bridge of her nose. "I won't promise that," she said wearily. It was an impossible demand; risking her life was second nature to her. And what was she supposed to do if something were to happen? Just sit back and do nothing? The very thought of it made her feel frustrated.

Gendry sighed and ran his knuckles down her cheeks softly. "Is it really such an unreasonable thing to ask?" He said gently, staring unblinkingly at her.

Arya just smiled, and turned around to mount, clenching a handful of Astrid's mane to pull herself up- and winced as her hand spiked in pain. Arya barely had time to look around for a way to get on when Gendry gently turned her by the shoulders. She was just about to ask him what he was doing when he slid his hands to her waist and, as easily as if she was a child, lifted her up. Arya almost snapped that she could do it herself and that she didn't need his help, but instead she smiled at him. "Thanks," she muttered with embarrassment, and watched curiously as that one small thing made him smile and puff out his chest.

Gendry swung up onto his horse and Arya made to strike off, when Gendry held up his hand, signalling her to stop. She looked at him curiously, to see him listening intently to something. Arya stopped breathing, and then she heard it; hooves, striking against the ground and approaching the gates fast. Arya looked to Gendry and saw his face was grim, his hand on his sword.

"If that's foe out there," he said darkly, "I want you to get out of here as fast as you can. Ride and don't look back." He drew his sword.

Arya drew her own in her right hand and felt him looking at her as she watched the gates. "You've forgotten, Gendry," Arya said lightly. "I never promised you I wouldn't risk my life."

"Arya," he started, but was interrupted as the first horse galloped through the portcullis. Arya grit her teeth and prepared herself for a fight; how many were there? Who was it sending them- Euron? Elmar Frey? It seemed unlikely. Arya was getting ready to spur on Astrid when she saw Gendry lower his sword.

"What are you doing?" She hissed, surprised that he gave up so easily, and even more shocked to see him relax in the saddle.

"There's no need for either of us to risk our lives," he said, clearly irritated that she had been so ready to fight again. "They aren't enemies." Arya twisted her head to look at the men so fast she was sure she had cricked her neck. As she searched them she relaxed, catching sight of a yellow cloak, a dyed green beard, and other recognizable features. Then she rounded on Gendry.

"You summoned the whole Brotherhood?" She hissed, fuming. It was bad enough he had come to save her, like she was some damsel in distress, but to call a small army to save her? She snarled and spurred Astrid on, ignoring Gendry calling her back as she galloped past the highly confused Brotherhood.

* * *

Gendry stared after her as she flew past the Brotherhood in anger, and exhaled in exasperation? Gendry would never for the life of him understand why she got so mad about it. His brow furrowed in frustration, Gendry glared at her retreating form.

"Milord?" Lem asked, reining up beside him. "The squire said you needed aid?" He stared after Arya in befuddlement. "What's wrong with her?" He asked.

Gendry clucked Rogue on with an impatient click of his tongue. "The Gods know," he growled, riding past the panting brotherhood, too confused and angry to stop and say anything to his bewildered men.

 **Phew, that was a long chapter! 27 pages! I hope you all liked the sudden excitement and turn of events. Aghghg those two can never just get along, can they? Arya being so stubborn, and Gendry being so possessive- both of them are such silly geese!**


	22. Bitter Sweet

**DISCLAIMER: I've never even blown gum successfully, do you really think I have the capacity to produce A Game of Thrones? For those of you who still need reassuring- I don't! Rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Apologies this is late, but again, I have a very good reason- after posting The Shadow Cat (the last chapter) I wrote out another two, ready to post in the following weeks- almost 60 pages- but I wasn't ever quite happy with it, I kept going back and not really being comfortable... so guess who deleted them both and started again? Yup. Ugh, it's so annoying, cos there were bits that I was mad happy with, but the main plot to them just didn't sit quite right :(( Anyway, after a lot of contemplation, I had a better idea- I hope- and so deleted them both and started over, albeit that I did save them to maybe use later on, but I doubt it! So apologies for this update being so late... grrr I'm still so annoyed, a literal ten days of non stop typing only to delete it all!**

 **Oh well, I guess GRRM has more to complain about than I do, so I'll just shut up now.**

The days following the attack at the Twins were dour, and Arya found herself riding alone in solitude once again- save for the guards that Gendry had set to watch her at all times, something that left Arya seething. Maybe it was irrational, perhaps Arya ought to put herself in his place- but she was simply too angry to. She didn't need to be guarded- if anything, the stupid attack had proved that! She had managed to hold her own before Gendry even arrived, and she was certain that she could have defeated them without his help... it was just unlucky that one of them caught her out. Besides it wasn't the fact that he had tried to protect her- it was that he still thought she needed protection. And it was because of this that Arya had refused to speak to the bull headed man since.

Then again, Gendry had made it plain to everyone who cared and everyone who didn't that he was even more furious at her than she was at him. Gendry was never the most forgiving person, but he usually came round in a couple of days, though it seemed he drew the line at Arya putting herself at risk. His foul mood appeared to have settled over the rest of the company, but within a day or so most had returned to the usual chatter and cheer- save for Arya and Gendry, each riding alone and brooding.

At least Gendry could still do things, Arya thought bitterly. With her broken wrist Arya found herself limited to what she could do. Holding a sword, skinning a rabbit, shooting a bow- all were difficult with one hand and wrist heavily bandaged. Even training properly with Jayce was nigh on impossible, and she was reduced to watching him clumsily water dance, occasionally snapping corrections at him until she grew too impatient and told him to go and catch more rabbits. He had not requested a lesson since.

But by far the worst thing was the way everyone treated her; her guards rotated daily and always ignored her, unless it was to say "Milord has said not to let you do that, Milady," or "Milday, you aren't supposed to do that." It drove her mad, but even worse was how everyone seemed to look at her as if she was some stupid child. The ladies- whom Arya hadn't the faintest clue of who they were- gave her reproachful glances, and the men went back to acting as if she were some little girl.

But the worst of all were the other girls.

Arya did not mind the whores so much. They had attached themselves to the host and followed along, offering service to whoever had the silver to pay for it. At first they had stuck behind with the soldiers and other men, but with Arya in disgrace they had been emboldened, moving quickly forward. At night Arya had even seen a few try to attach themselves to Gendry, though he payed them little attention except to push them away. No, it was not the whores that bothered her.

It was the ladies. Not the ones who sent her disdainful glances, but the younger ones that she saw looking at her in groups and gossiping behind their hands. The ones who laughed when she caught them staring. So confident they were, with their hair all done up and their pretty dresses, so used to having attention and power- Arya in her breeches and rough tunic was the perfect outcast. Not that that bothered her; they were the kind of girls she had avoided her whole life, and if being an outcast meant she didn't have to speak with them, Arya was not going to complain.

It was the way they seemed to flock around Gendry in the evenings, now that he was avoiding Arya. They would sashay up to him, swinging their hips and flicking their hair, flashing little smiles and singing sweet tunes. One of them had put her hand on Gendry's arm the evening prior, and Arya had felt a surge of anger, seething long after Gendry had pushed her off.

And that was what bothered her.

Why should she care whether those wool headed sheep flirted with Gendry? After all, it wasn't like she cared about his affection for her... so why was she so jealous? She was furious at him for the things he had said after the attack, and the embarrassment he had caused when he had called the whole Brotherhood to see him rescue her. Hell's, she was still angry about the whole betrothal agreement. So why was it that she felt so strange with him ignoring her?

What with the snickering girls, the disdainful ladies and the offended soldiers, the only people who still spoke to her were the Brotherhood. When it had been Anguys turn to guard her he had tried to cheer her up with some amusing stories. When it was Tom he had tried singing her favourite song, but that had only made her feel worse, though she didn't know why. Lem had attempted to get her to talk by offering her his blackstrap rum, and Greenbeard had attempted to bribe her into speaking to Gendry with Toby leaves, but had given up with a groan of frustration and a "you're both as bloody stubborn as the other!" Arya had not disagreed with him.

Days became weeks, and the weeks grew longer, and still Arya refused to talk to Gendry, and still Gendry refused to talk to her. The weather grew progressively warmer, and rain became more frequent, warm and sticky, leaving her clothes steaming as they dried on her, just in time for it to rain again. According to Lem the Riverlands were experiencing the rain season, and it was like to only get worse. Cold, clean fresh rain- Arya liked that kind. But this rain was different, sticky and sweet and clinging. The ground became more lush as they travelled, the grass greener and the earth softer and more clay like. At the end of every day, Arya came to find herself washing off in the Greenfork, scrubbing the warm sticky off with the cold and clean, though she had to content herself with only a quick wash as her guards were never far away.

That day had been particularly bad for the rain, as the host marched past the Palisade Village, and with no breeze the rain just came down, hot and heavy, causing the ground to become waterlogged and slippy, and the wagons and wheelhouses became stuck and the wooden wheels span uselessly in the clay. Still Gendry was determined to persist, though it took them hours to cover a leagues worth of ground. Arya didn't know why he didn't just order the prissy little ladies to ride with everyone else- it would save time and frustration.

And so, following their determined Lord, the company slowly and perilously made its way south along the Kings Road, through the rain and the mug and the squelchy ground. Arya wiped her sticky hair from her face, despising the way it clung to her every time she moved, itchy and claustrophobic. As she did so, Gendry cantered past on his enormous destrier, and Arya narrowed her eyes at his back; was he deliberately making a point of riding past her, or was he as restless as she was? Arya made no secret of her hatred for the slow pace, and knew full well that many felt the same way. _If it weren't for those damned prissies, we could be there by now._ Not that she was in any particular hurry to get to Storms End; after all, she didn't plan on staying long. _Besides, maybe he's changed his mind anyway_ , she thought, refusing to look at him when he cantered back up the line toward her. _Good; it's what I wanted anyway,_ she thought, pretending she hadn't seen him rein up beside her.

"We'll be at the Inn soon," he addressed her guard for that morning. Darron, Dearon, Arya couldn't remember. Not that it mattered, he hadn't even looked at her since he was assigned to watch her. Arya looked down to tighten her already perfectly tight girth when Gendry didn't leave. "Make sure milady is settled in her room straight away, I don't need any little accidents while we're-"

Arya looked up so sharply that she thought she snapped her neck. "What?" She asked, disbelieving, but Gendry didn't spare her a glance.

"- The Heddles are already going to have more than enough on their hands," he said. The guard, Darron or Dearon, whatever he was called, nodded, with a stern "Yes milord, right away." Gendry nodded in appreciation, and made to turn his destrier around, only to find Arya had manouvred her mare in front of him.

"You're sending me to my room with an escort now?" She asked coldly, her brows lowered.

Gendry looked over her frostily, and then simply replied, "Yes," before, edging past her and trotting off. Arya glared in disbelief at his retreating back, and made to spur Astrid on after him, engulfed in anger, only for Harwin to ride up beside her and gently take a hold of her reins.

"Best not, milady," he said with an apologetic smile. "I dare say he'll come to you later, but this slow pace has got him as frustrated as the rest of us, and its better to leave him when he's like this." Arya huffed. Oh, he could come to see her, of course, but that didn't mean she had to receive him, she thought, thrusting her chin up haughtily.

As Gendry had promised, it was not long before the host reached the Crossroads Inn, with its three crooked floors and chimneys made from white stone. While the Brotherhood and Gendry's favoured knights rode on to the Inn, the majority of the company stayed behind, aiming to set up camp along the grassy banks of the Ruby Ford. Arya was tempted to stay behind with the rest of camp, but Darron-or Dearon- with his grey face and mouth made for frowning, sent her a stern look. Arya huffed; she had no doubt that she could both outride and out fight the man, but what good would it do her? He would go straight to him, and then she would only suffer further humiliation.

"Don't see it that way," Anguy had tried to tell her two days prior, upon her assessment of it being a humiliation.

"Why not?" She had asked glumly. "It is that way."

Anguy had shrugged. "Yes, but its better to not look at it like that. Besides," he had added with a smirk, "we both know that he ain't doing it to keep you a prisoner, but to make sure you're well protected now that we know there's someone after you."

Arya had been sorely tempted to clout him; someone wanted her dead all of the time, what else was new? But she supposed he wasn't wrong about the whole guard issue though.

The Inn was different to how she remembered it, and just the same. It looked the same, albeit in better repair, but there was a different manner surrounding it, like you could look at the place and expect good food and a warm bed, rather than to walk in and be attacked by outlaws. The yard to the side had been repaired too, re walled and graveled, much better than the pit of mud it had been when she was last there.

Reluctantly, Arya swung from Astrid, handing her over to a squire that she had seen Jayce spending time with. She ignored Dearon's glare and marched ahead, wanting to explore, but before she could the front door slammed open and two girls of an age with her ran past. Arya barely had time to register their appearance before they had thrown themselves at Gendry, who wore a small grin. Arya narrowed her eyes.

"Willow," he greeted, setting the smaller of the two down and then the other, "Jeyne. 'Tis good to see you looking so fine," he said, looking at them fondly. Arya watched as the smiled back, trying to stamp down the heat in her stomach at the sight. _They're probably just whores_ , she thought... _but then, why would Gendry be so familiar with them?_ Arya bit the inside of her lip, ignoring Dearon's sigh of impatience.

"Gendry, it's so wonderful to see you!" The smaller one squealed, practically jumping up and down in delight, her hands almost fluttering together with joy. "Or is it Lord Baratheon now?" She smirked at him, and Arya felt her stomach broil.

Gendry smiled again. "Gendry is just fine," he said, passing his stallion over to Jayce.

The small one grinned wickedly. "Ooh, isn't he a pretty one?" She said cheekily, looking at Jayce, who blushed bright red. "Oh, look how he blushes like a maid!" She giggled.

"You leave him be, Willow," Gendry said, though Arya thought she could see a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "He's just a lad." Jayce still hadn't moved from where he stood, clutching Rogue's reins and staring in awe at Willow. Gendry swatted at him and he snapped to it, blushing even deeper before he practically ran off. Arya rolled her eyes.

"It truly is good to see you," the taller one said, putting a hand on Gendry's arm. "It's not so often we see old friends here, even in the trade." Old friends? Just how old was that, exactly? Arya had to force herself not to clench her fists as the three old friends walked a small distance away,so that Arya could not hear their conversation- not that she wanted to, of course. Gendry could be with whoever he wanted to be with, she wasn't going to stop him.

Arya made to march off, hoping to explore around the back, when a mailed fist grasped her upper arm. Arya span around, her lips pulled back in a snarl; apparently Dearon had become bored waiting for her.

"Take. your hand. off. of me," Arya snarled, "Or else I'll cut it off."

"Milord has ordered me to escort you to your rooms," he said, and quick as a flash Arya had whipped her dirk from her belt and had pressed it against his groin.

"Unhand me now," she hissed, "or I will nick this artery, and milord will be one less loyal knight." She glared at him until he let go of her arm, though he didn't relent.

"Milord-" he began, but Arya hissed at him and stalked off towards the Inn, already knowing the way.

* * *

Gendry had barely landed on his feet after dismounting Rogue when he heard a loud slam. Already certain of the source of the noise, he turned around, just in time to be nearly knocked off his feet as two bodies slammed into his. Gendry smiled; when had he last seen them- years ago to be sure.

When he finally set them on their feet he got a chance to have a proper look at the two; both sisters were tall, Jeyne standing a couple of inches taller, though Gendry suspected that Willow would soon overtake her sister in the height department. When last he had seen them they had been children; Willow a skinny ten year old, and Jeyne a tall and somber of fourteen name days though he supposed he looked as changed to them as they did to him.

"Willow," he laughed, placing her down before setting the elder on her feet. "Jeyne. Tis wonderful to see you," he said, truly meaning it. It would be good to hear how they had got on following his departure with the Red Woman.

"Gendry, it's so wonderful to see you!" Willow said, barely able to contain her delight. Then she paused and smirked. "Or is it milord, now?" She asked cheekily.

Gendry grinned; she hadn't changed at all from the bossy child he had last seen, giving orders to all of the other orphans as if she were the Lady of the Inn. "Gendry is fine," he assured her, making to pass Rogue over to Jayce, smirking to see the boys awe struck expression.

Willow also noticed it seemed, a wicked expression gracing her features. "Ooh, he's a pretty one isn't he?" She teased, causing the poor boy to blush. "Look how he blushes like a maid!" She laughed, sending him a smile.

Gendry chuckled under his breath; she definitely hadn't changed. "You leave him be, Willow," he said, "He's just a lad." He shot Jayce a look and the boy scurried off, almost tripping over his feet in a display of his embarrassment.

Jeyne spoke up before her louder sister could again, placing her hand on Gendry's arm. "It truly is good to see you, Gendry," she smiled. "It isn't so often we get to see old friends, even in the trade." She smiled softly again, and began to lead him away towards the yard. "We hear you're here with your bride to be?" She said, causing Gendry to go red in turn. "So, which one is the blushing bride?" She asked, and Gendry turned around, wondering if Dearon had already escorted her upstairs- and held back a groan when he saw Arya with a knife to the poor mans groin, her lips pulled back in a vicious snarl.

"That's her," he said, wondering if he ought to go and break it up, just as Dearon let go of her arm; so that was why she was angry at the man- he must have become too bossy. Gendry sighed; he would have to be more careful in choosing her guards next time.

Jeyne appeared skeptical. "That's your bride?" She asked, as the trio watched Arya storm off, Dearon following a healthy distance behind her, clearly more than wary of her temper. Smart.

Gendry nodded. "If I can persuade her to be, yes," he said, thinking that he had more than damaged his chances.

"What happened to her hand?" Willow asked, her eyes catching the bandage around Arya's hand.

Gendry sighed. "She broke her hand... punching my face," he said, still guilty for driving her to hit him in the first place. Willow and Jeyne shared a look, and Gendry knew just what they were thinking; that he had bitten off more than he could chew with Arya Stark.

* * *

Arya barely spared a glance at the long and drafty common room, instead making her way up the cramped narrow staircase to the rooms upstairs, were she assumed Gendry intended to keep her under close watch. _He's so stupid,_ she thought as she made her way to the end room. _A control freak!_ She pushed the door open, taking a small measure of satisfaction in slamming it shut in Dearon's face. She heard him mutter something on the other side and rolled her eyes; it wasn't her fault that he had grabbed her arm.

The room was small, with a window facing the yard outside and a small feather bed opposite. Now that Arya was there she didn't know what to do- she had nothing to unpack, and even if she did she wouldn't have bothered; they were only staying a couple of nights to rest the horses a while. Frankly, Arya would have been happier sleeping rough with the other men, or even in the stables- but of course, Gendry would never allow that.

Arya sat down on the window sill with a huff, staring unseeingly down at the yard. She knew that Gendry hadn't set them to punish her, but to make sure she didn't sneak off again... but still, it rankled. After all, she had taken care of herself for years, and done a good damn job of it too. But the second that he came into her life, she was some little girl again, who needed a big strong man to solve all of her problems. Arya snorted; once they got to the Storm Lands she would show him, and then he wouldn't even want a year with her. She smirked; he wouldn't know what had hit him.

She looked down at the now quieting yard, where the horses were being hobbled in the open barn and their tack was being cleaned ruthlessly by squires. Jayce was there, brushing Rogue down with a handful of straw, and Arya sighed. The stallion was a prime beast, no one could doubt that, but Arya found she didn't much like him, for he reminded her of Stranger, the Hounds old horse. She had tried to steal him once when Sandor was taking a piss, but while the horse was as gentle as an old gelding wit his master, he was a vicious beast with anyone else, and had almost taken her fingers of. Although, she thought, tapping the glass idly, it was the Hound that had caused her the most grief for that stunt.

She shook her head, knuckling her temple; he was dead, there was no point in wasting thought on him... though she did wonder what she would do now, were she to see him again. She supposed there was no point in thinking about it.

As she watched Jayce she felt a pang of something in her stomach that she thought must be pride; even though he had yet to train with a sword, Arya could see a marked difference in him. He was a hard worker, she had to admit, dedicated to learning the art. She had seen him often, practicing alone when he thought no one was watching, and Arya approved; with the right training and enough hard work, she was sure that he could become a great swordsman; he was quick, and stronger than he looked, and he moved with a grace that Arya rarely saw in Westerosi men.

Perhaps she would train with him on the morrow; with her broken sword hand- already better than it was- she couldn't properly train him, as he would also have to fight back to front to match, but perhaps... Arya would need to find some brooms, or a couple of stiff branches. Arya tried to think- she had seen a few that might to in the trees nearby, she was sure that she could fashion them to match the ones she was thinking of.

She leapt up and crossed the room in four strides, before flinging the door open. Dearon was leaning against the wall, picking at his nails, but he looked up sharply as she opened the door. "Milady, milord commanded me to watch you-" he started, but Arya had already marched past him.

"Milord commanded you to watch me," she shrugged, hopping down the first step, "So watch me." And with that she bounded down the rest of the small stairs and out the front door, waltzing past a confused Gendry. Moments later Dearon followed, also rushing past his lord, in pursuit of Arya.

Arya strode confidently through the yard and hopped over an old wall, landing in the trees where she had once watched with the Hound. Just as she had thought, Arya found a pile of long sturdy branches, thin but large enough to have some weight to them. She rootled through them quickly and picked the best two, straight and without little sticks or knobbles. Dearon had only just caught up with her when she sat down on the broken wall, one branch at her feet and the other across her lap. Her knife was in her hand. Dearon watched her warily as he sat down, and Arya rolled her eyes.

As she took off the first strip of bark she was pleased to see that the wood underneath was firm and non splintered. So, with a plan in mind and wondering if there was any sand in the yard, Arya set to work.

It was long and Arya had to be careful to not take any notches out accidentally, but by the time that dusk had begun to set, she held two poles, each one stripped of its bark.

Upon reaching the yard Arya stopped one of the squires. "Are there any barrels of sand here?" She asked, doubtful; the yard was sparse, and not hugely well equipped.

The squire, still looking surprised that she had stopped him, shook his head and Arya sighed. They would do the job, but it would be easier if- "But there is a Smithy's over that way," he said, gesturing to a small shack. Arya eyed it doubtfully; it looked more like a broom shed than a smithy, but she thanked him and made her way over. The door hung loose on its hinges, but Arya pushed it open, ignoring the loud creak it made.

Then she groaned.

Of course, of course he would be there. Damn him!

Arya sighed and lingered in the doorway for a minute, wondering if he had noticed her and if she ought to just leave. But she already had them there, ready, so with her chin held up and jutted out, Arya stepped in. Gendry was stood by an anvil, hammering something out, his shirt discarded. Arya couldn't help but raise a brow at his bared back; roped with muscle it strained as he brought the hammer down again, a rich tan colour. Arya watched sweat bead at the nape of his neck, before it rolled down his back.

He seemed to notice her presence, and turned to look over his shoulder, his face half covered by shadow. Arya fidgeted when he saw her, before turning around to place the poles on the work bench behind her. She heard Gendry put down his hammer and walk over to her, jumping when he stopped behind her and reached out to take one of the poles. She turned around in the small space, the edge of the work bench pressing into her back and Gendry a foot away, where he stood inspecting her pole.

He ran his hand along it and tossed it lightly in his hands; the pole was longer than Arya was tall, and about the width of a small apple. He looked up and raised a brow at her. "A sparring staff?" He asked, skeptically. Arya nodded, and he sighed. "What do you need a sparring staff for?" He asked, turning it over in his hands.

Arya bit her lip. "To spar with," she said simply. "I just need to file them down somehow..." she turned around again, looking up at the assortment of tools on the wall, searching for some sort of file. The tools were limited, mostly the sort you would need for shoeing a horse, but there at the top was a long file that she was sure would do the trick. She sighed and made to climb up on the bench to reach it, but Gendry stepped closer and reached it, his front pressing momentarily into her back as he stretched, causing Arya's breathing to stutter.

He stared down at her when she turned around and it took her a moment to realise he was holding it out to her. "Thanks," she muttered, and he nodded before walking back to whatever he had been working on before.

She grasped the end of the rod and began to file it down, stopping when she felt Gendry looking at her. She looked up and bit her lip as he frowned at her.

"It's better to hold the file diagonally," he said nodding at the tool. Arya adjusted it and he nodded. A couple of strokes later he added, "you need to do longer strokes," he said, and Arya glanced up in dismay. He put his hands up and she waited before carrying on.

"If you-"

"I can do it just fine!" She said exasperated, and he winced. She sighed and put the file down. "What are you doing in here anyway?" She asked, nodding at the anvil he was leaning against.

"Oh," he said, glancing behind him. "Nothing." Arya narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, and he sighed, reaching behind him before pulling it out. "I just thought that you could do with some support for your wrist," he said, nodding at her broken hand. Arya lifted her eyebrow in surprise. He was making something for her?

He grasped it and stepped closer, before placing it down on the bench behind her. He took her unbroken hand in his, and rolled up her sleeve carefully, his hot fingers brushing her skin. Arya watched with interest as he picked up the bits and placed it on her wrist; it was a dark leather guantlet, tied in place with leather straps.

"It isn't finished yet," he said, picking up some small bits of metal that Arya couldn't name. He smiled softly at her confusion. "These," he said, showing her the tiny circles, "Will go around each lace hole, to stop it from fraying, and then these," he showed her four small squares, "will be buckles, see? Two on each end." He placed them down where they would go, next to leather straps and Arya saw what he meant.

"I... thank you," she said. She'd never had any armour, leather or not.

He nodded, turning her wrist over to see the fit. "Well, at least the next time you need to punch someone you won't break your wrist." He took her left wrist, the one that was all strapped up, and frowned. "How bad is it?" He asked, grazing his fingers lightly over the bandage where the break was, the outside of her wrist.

Arya shrugged. "It's fine," she said, and he looked at her sceptically. She sighed. "Honestly, it's more annoying than anything." He didn't appear convinced, but he let it slide, undoing the laces on the gauntlet and taking it back over to the anvil. Arya chewed her lip, knowing that she ought to say something.

"Gendry-"

"Arya-"

The two spoke at the same time, and Arya blushed a little, swallowing. "You go," she said, nodding at him as she leant back against the work bench.

Gendry sighed lowly, and ran his hand through his thick hair. "I'm sorry that I said what I did," he offered, staring straight in her eyes. "I was just so mad that you had risked your life like that when you knew full well that I would have come with you had you asked." Arya felt a small worm of guilt in her stomach. "I just- I wish that you would listen to me sometimes!" His thick, dark brows furrowed as he went on. "It's like you challenge every order and push every limit, risk your life just to prove a point. I know that you want to be seen as strong, but you don't have to risk your life to show me that- I already know how strong you are!" He ended, louder than when he had started, though Arya knew it was with frustration more than anger.

"Then why do you treat me like a child?" She asked, with her palms up. "Having me guarded, and sending me to my room- does it never occur to you that I only lash out because of how you treat me?" Gendry clenched his jaw and pulled that face he always did when he was thinking. Arya used to think he looked stupid, but maybe that was just because she was mad. "I understand why it is that you do it, but I still wish you wouldn't. Can you just trust me to not get myself killed?" She asked, stepping closer.

Gendry shot her a hard look. "You ask that after you sneaked off to a dangerous castle, alone, at night, after I had warned you not to?" Arya had to admit- it wasn't her strongest argument. "I think the real issue here is your problem with authority." He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Arya felt her anger flare up. "I do NOT have a problem with auth-"

"Then go with Dearon back to your room," he shrugged.

Arya tightened her fists, ignoring the spasm of pain in her left wrist. "You can't just tell me what to- oh," she stopped when he pulled a rather smug expression, appearing rather pleased with himself. Arya huffed. "Well I think you have control problems," she stated.

Gendry lifted an eyebrow. "I do NOT have control problems," he said, taking a step closer to her again.

Arya shrugged. "Then I guess I'll just go and scope the area out alone," she said, turning and making to leave, but to her satisfaction he strode after her and took her by the arm, gently but firmly turning her around.

"No way," he said sternly. "I told you, I want you right here where I can-ah." He cursed and let go of her, drawing himself to his full height. "I do Not have control problems," he stated firmly, but Arya just raised a brow at him and stepped past him to her staffs, turning her back to him.

She heard him sigh behind her and rub his jaw, before turning around and gently turning her to face him. "You're the only person I seem to have problems with," he said quietly, with a small smile. "Maybe I should relax a little."

Arya snorted. "Yeah, maybe." She sighed. "Gendry, what if we made another deal?" He quirked a brow at her and she took it as a sign to continue. "If you stop having me guarded, I won't do anything too risky." He scoffed and she clenched her jaw. "Fine, I won't do anything risky at all." He looked down at her for a moment, considering. Arya fidgeted.

"Alright," he agreed slowly, "I'll give you your freedom... " Arya smiled. "...on one condition." her heart sank and he smirked at her. "You let me kiss you, right now." Arya felt her eyes widen for a second, and opened her mouth to think of an excuse, unsure whether it was a good idea, but at her hesitation Gendry raised his brow, smirking smugly.

When she closed her mouth, Gendry smiled genuinely and took her face in his hands, his fingers splayed over the sides of her head and his thumbs just above her cheekbones. He leaned down and Arya's eyes flickered down to his lips. His hair tickled her skin as he leaned in, and gently but firmly pressed his lips to hers.

Arya was unsure of what to do, so she slowly brought her hands up to his chest, shivering when he slid one if his down her cheek and cupped the back of her neck. The kiss was soft, but not so tentative as before, his mouth covering hers, and Arya found herself responding by tilting her head back and giving him easier access. Gendry smiled softly against her mouth, pleased by her response, and Arya felt her breath hitch when he slid his hands down her sides, coming to rest on the curve of her waist. Then without warning, he lifted her easily onto the work bench so that her face was more level with his, causing Arya to gasp.

As her lips parted Gendry kissed her more deeply, though she suspected that he was holding back rather a lot; she was grateful. All of this was new to her, and she knew that she would be confused about it later on when she was alone again. Gendry seemed to notice that her attention had slipped away from him and gently wound his hand into her hair at the nape of her neck to tilt her head back. Arya felt her eyelids flutter involuntarily and without meaning to, slid her good hand up his bare chest to rest on his shoulder. She felt him shudder under her touch and was surprised that one simple touch could do that to him. A hot feeling coiled in her stomach and she sighed against him, wondering just what it was, and how he could make her feel that way so easily... Arya pushed gently against his chest and pulled away, looking up at him through her eyelashes to see his face.

Hi breathing wasn't heavy, but he had to take a moment to get it back and Arya the same, sucking in a shaky breath. His hands let go of her neck and slid back down to rest on the tops of her hips. Arya swallowed; that was... new. Not bad, but new. She suddenly shifted back a little more and turned her face away, clearing her throat quietly.

"I- I need to," she recollected herself and hopped down from the bench to find that he had not stepped away, leaving her pressed between his chest and the edge of the bench. She looked up at him, to see him watching her carefully, gauging her reaction. "... I need to do those staffs," she said, chewing her lip. He waited for a beat and then stepped away, letting her pass, though she didn't move immediately.

She placed her back to him as she began to file the closest staff down, not truly thinking about what she was doing, and jumped when he placed a hand over hers. She waited questioningly.

"Diagonally," he said again, showing her the right motion. "Long and smooth." Arya bit her lip and nodded, and after a few more strokes he let go and took the next one, sanding it down a lot faster and more effectively than her.

"You don't have to-" Arya started, but he nodded.

"I know," he said, and didn't stop, watching his work intently. Arya studied his side profile for a moment, and smiled, before going back to work.

* * *

Breakfast at the Inn was a simple affair. When Arya woke up there was no great realisation or jump to consciousness, nor was there a slow and sleepy blinking as she left her dream; one moment she was asleep and the next she was awake. Perhaps it was because she hadn't slept until it was so late it was early, or maybe it was simple routine, but that was what it was. Arya had spent the night confused and reeling from the hundreds of thoughts spinning around her skull.

It was as if she was at war with herself; let herself feel what she was beginning to feel- if she was yet feeling anything- or stop it before anything could really begin? This wasn't her. Secret kisses by firelight, blushes and small smiles- that was Sansa, not her. But then, that wasn't the first time Arya had thought that in regard to Gendry.

 _She could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs, but that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream._

Arya rubbed her temples as she sat up in bed, the rough covers sliding down to pool at her waist. These thoughts were not hers- she was a Faceless Assassin, for fucks sake, she wasn't even supposed to have emotions! But then... even in the depths of her time with the Guild, she had always been won over by Arya Starks emotions. When she killed Raff the Sweetling, when she refused to kill Lady Crane... maybe Arya was more ruled by her emotions than she had originally thought.

The idea disturbed her on the way down to breakfast, in the long common room, one end displaying wooden kegs and the other a large but empty hearth. Though it was early and most remained in bed, there were a few faces, but Arya didn't recognise them. She walked over to an empty table and slid in to the end, beneath the window. There were jugs set out and rough metal cups, so Arya helped herself to a cup of warm milk with spices in it, and wondered who exactly was paying for it.

Slowly the common room began to fill up as inhabitants began to wake, most tripping down the stairs and rubbing away the resultant head aches of activities the evening prior. The older girl, with brown hair and eyes, began to wipe down the table, and Arya frowned, wondering again who she was. As she did so, Arya noticed a stain on the floor, and felt her gut leap. It was faded, and black in colour, but she was sure...

 _"I was hoping you'd do something stupid..."_

"Good morn milady," sang a happy voice, breaking her from her thoughts. Arya looked up quickly to see the other girl she had seen greet Gendry the day before, and Gendry himself, just as they sat down at the table, Gendry beside her and the girl opposite. She smiled in return and took a sip of the milk, still shaken by the stain on the floor.

 _He drank too much too quickly._

"Willow, aren't you supposed to be in the kitchen with me?" The tall brown haired girl asked, eye brows raised as she wiped a cup. _The look he gave her was cold with promise of pain._ Willow just laughed and made a reply, but Arya didn't hear it, her gaze brought back to the disturbing stains.

"So how has everything been?" She heard Gendry ask, nodding at Willow as he poured some ale. "We didn't much get a chance to talk yesterday."

 _The stupid squire was clutching the table and pulling himself to his knees._

 _"_ Oh it's alright, rather boring right now, but it always is at this time of year," the girl replied, taking a sip of sweetened wine. "My aunt always said it was the rain. It's unlucky, don't you know?"

 _She threw the dagger they had taken from the dying archer._

Two men came stumbling down the stairs, groaning and clutching their heads, calling out for eggs and bread with dripping. Gendry refilled his cup, and said something to which Willow laughed.

 _She jerked his knife from its sheath and sheathed it again in his belly, twisting._

"It's been fine," Gendry said with a shrug, "Hasn't it, Arya?"

 _Blood spattered on the ceiling and walls._

"Arya, are you alright?"

 _It was the easiest thing in the world to step up behind him and stab him._

 _"_ Arya?"

 _"Is there gold hidden in the village?" She shouted as she drove the blade up through his back. "Is there silver? Gems?" She stabbed twice more. "Is there food? Where is Lord Beric?" She was on top of him now, still stabbing. "Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? Is there gold in the village?"_

Gendry was shaking her arm, but Arya barely even felt it, not hearing the worried questions he was asking her.

 _Her hands were red and sticky when Sandor dragged her off him. "Enough," was all he said._

 _"Enough."_

"Perhaps she had too much to drink last night?"-. "No, I was with her, she didn't drink anything,"

 _"This one is yours, she-wolf... remember where the heart is?"_

 _"Mercy..."_

 _Needle slipped between his ribs and she gave it to him._

Arya snapped her head around when Gendry began to shake her. She blinked the red from her eyes. Gendry was staring at her in concern and so was Willow, the silence awkward. She noticed Gendry was still clutching her arm. She shook him off.

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head. "Sorry, I just... that stain," she asked Willow, "how long has it been there?"

Willow didn't even need to look. "Oh, you wouldn't be the first to get squeamish at it," she said, causing Gendry to relax. "It's been there forever, remember Gendry?" Gendry nodded. "I heard it was some big fight, bloody and murderous. It was the Hound, they say, murdering a group of others in cold blood." She leaned against the table. "I do wonder how awful it must have been- its such a large stain? Look its all on the ceiling too, and the walls. How exactly does one make a stain like that?" She sighed an took a drink from her cup.

"By clawing at the floor," Arya said quietly, her eyes fixed on the four long scratches.

Willow shrugged. "Must have been a big person."

"... he wasn't."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation and Willow cleared her throat before standing up. "I had better go and help my sister," she said nodding towards a very hassled Jeyne. "I'll speak to you later." She smiled and walked off, but Arya barely noticed until Gendry turned to look at her.

"Want to tell me what that was about?" He asked, raising a brow.

Arya shook her head and flicked a hand at him. "Not now," she muttered, taking a deep drink from the cup. When she took it away from her face again she almost jumped to see Greenbeard, Lem and Anguy opposite them, yawning and rubbing away headaches. She allowed herself to drown in their idle chat with Gendry, drinking the spiced milk to take away the taste of blood.

* * *

Arya tossed the pole at Jayce, who caught it just in time and narrowed his eyes at her.

"You said we were going to move on to real training," he said, letting the end of the pole fall to the ground, holding it loosely in his hand. Arya span hers in her hands deftly before lashing out and jabbing him sharply in the stomach. Jayce groaned and bent over double, and Arya smirked.

"You haven't been paying attention," she chided, as he straightened up, wheezing. "Never let your guard down." Jayce huffed and said something about not knowing they had started yet. Arya twirled the pole behind her back neatly, so that it sat vertically behind her.

"Always assume the fight has started," she said, walking in a circle behind him. He turned around warily, holding his pole uselessly, but aloft. Arya nodded; he was a quick learner. When she came full circle, she stopped, turning to face him square on. Jayce swallowed and raised his pole a little, holding it out as if it were a sword. Arya contained a smile. She had done that the first time too. He would learn.

Arya span her pole in her hands, twisting with it- before lunging out and bringing it down on his upper arm. Jayce groaned and as he made to rub the pain, Arya span around suddenly and used the pole to sweep his feet out from under him. He fell on the gravel with a yelp, landing roughly on his back; Arya almost winced. Almost. He'd be picking grit out of his skin for weeks.

He got to his feet again quickly, though not particularly elegantly, a sulky expression on his face. "I wasn't ready-" Arya's pole lashed out from nowhere, jabbing him in the gut the instant his pole lowered. He bent over double, clutching his stomach, and Arya brought the staff up sharply under his chin, bringing his head up. He yelled in pain as his head flew back, and let go of the staff to clutch his jaw, cursing.

Arya resumed her circling around him. "Like I said," she answered lightly, "always be ready." She lashed out again with the butt of the staff and hit him between his shoulder blades. Jayce fell forward with a grunt, straight to the ground. Arya flipped her staff and span it behind her back into her starting position, still circling as he lay groaning on the floor. A small crowd had begun to watch from the edges of the yard, but Arya paid them no mind.

"It isn't fair," Jayce winced, pulling himself up to his knees and clutching his stomach, but Arya cut across him.

"Do you think that all fights you ever have will be fair?" She asked, stopping in front of him. "When I trained I was blindfolded. My teacher left me bleeding on the floor, half dead. The next day, the same happened, and the day after that. Every night I would go to sleep with broken bones, and every morning I would get up and break them again. Shall I blind fold you, and leave you unconscious on the floor?"

Jayce stared at her with awe, and a healthy dose of fear, before getting up as quickly as he could, holding his staff aloft. Arya was pleased to see that he now held it with two hands, rather than with one at the end like a sword. He sniffed and ran the back of his hand across his nose. Arya could already see a bruise forming on his jaw.

Arya took a step to the side and he winced, raising his staff. Arya shook her head. This would not do. Fear of pain led to restraint. "What did I tell you, in our very first lesson?" She asked.

Jayce swallowed and creased his brow for a second. "Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes us stronger?" He asked, unsure. Arya smiled and nodded.

"Good," she said. "Remember that." She lashed out at him again, thinking _you are about to have a great many lessons._

When she had finished with him he lay groaning in the gravel again, but Arya didn't pity him. _He'll learn_ , she thought, picking up his staff and making to walk away when something- or someone- caught her arm. Arya sighed and rolled up her sleeves as Gendry turned her around to face him.

"Was that really necessary?" He asked, gesturing to Jayce, who had picked himself onto all fours and was spitting out blood into the grit. Arya winced; to be fair, it had been a nasty hit to his mouth.

But she shrugged. "He'll do better," she promised, looking up at him.

Gendry widened his eyes. "Not if you beat him to death beforehand!" He said, wincing as Jayce pulled himself to his feet, swaying. "How is this even teaching him to sword fight?"

Arya sighed. "It taught me," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

Gendry looked exasperated. "He," he said, looking back at Jayce, who had accepted the help of a friend to limp away to the stables, "is not you."

Arya shrugged again. "He'll get there." She made to step past him, but Gendry moved in front of her, his large frame blocking her off, and Arya rolled her eyes.

"When you said you were making the staffs for sparring I thought you meant with me, or someone who can keep up with you," he said firmly, taking hold of the nearest staff and shaking it.

"I never said who I planned on sparring with," she said, eyes narrowed. "Besides, it's the best way to learn."

Gendry scoffed. "What, learn your Braavosi dancing?" Arya scowled when he shook his head. "Arya, you and I both know that this sparring isn't real fighting, the only way to become a great swordsman is with a sword."

Arya wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I bet that if you had learned this way then you would be ten times the warrior you are today!" She snapped, once again making to step around him, huffing when he once again stepped in front of her, scowling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned, and Arya smirked.

"It means that this way," she gestured to the staffs, "is better than your way."

Gendry scoffed again. "Please Arya, we both know that even with these silly staffs, I could knock you flat on your arse."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "Want to give it a go?" She asked. "We can have them make the square right now if you want, but I'd hate to embarrass you in front of your own men." Gendry smirked.

"Alright," he agreed, surprising her. "We'll make the square, but don't you get all cross when I beat you," he said cockily, causing her to scowl again.

"Fine," she said, turning and walking to where she had been training with Jayce. She turned and tossed one of the staffs at him without warning, impressed when he caught it one handed. A small group gathered around them, though neither she nor Gendry bothered to formally call for square. "Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked, moving to her start position.

Gendry nodded. "I'm sure. In fact," he added, smirking, "Why not make this a little more interesting?"

Arya narrowed her eyes.

 **Badda bing badda boom.**

 **So I know I finished this chapter in an annoying place, but the document I use wouldn't take any more in one go, so yeah. Again, I'm sorry for the wait, but I just wasn't happy the the original ones so had to rewrite. Irritating as it is, I'm glad that I did though, so I hope you all enjoyed it :) If anyone has any ideas for their bet let me know! I have a couple of ideas... but I would definitely be open to any suggestions! As always, drop a review or a pm, and I will try to get back to you!** **Enjoy this update, see ya soon! Over and Out xoxo**


	23. Secrets and Lies

**DISCLAIMER: I own nOthIng, rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Alright, so that last chapter was quite cute. Poor Arya has no clue about how she's feeling XD Not much to say, but to apologise again for how long it took to update this chapter, but I had already written it out along with the first one, decided I didn't like the first one and deleted it and did the same with this one! AAAAGH so annoying! Anyway, I'll let you get on with reading :)) Over and Out! xoxo**

Arya twisted the staff behind her back, walking casually around him, ignoring the eyes glued to her form. Once she had made a full circle she stopped, making to stand square in front of him to regard him. He would have height and strength advantage, just like in normal sword fighting, but staffs required a more refined technique, and Arya doubted that Gendry had spent much time training with them; the way he held the staff, his stance- all were classic signs of an amateur. And Arya was no amateur herself.

"More interesting how?" She asked, cocking her head slightly, fixing the tall man with her gaze.

Gendry's lip twitched. "I propose a wager," he said lightly, tossing the staff lightly in his hand.

Arya hesitated. "What sort of wager?" She asked suspiciously, scratching the side of her staff in agitation.

Gendry shrugged and stepped forward in challenge. "I don't know," he said, pretending to contemplate, and Arya rolled her eyes. _Prat_. "If you win, you get what you want. If I win," he flashed her a cocky smile that made her fingers tighten around her staff, "I get what I want." He stepped closer again.

Arya tightened her jaw, searching him. "And what _do_ you want?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "If I win, when we get to Storms End, you'll ride pillion with me," he said, lowly, so just she could hear him. Arya felt her eyes bulge and was about to tell him what an ass he was and that there was no way that she would agree to that... but the cocky look in his eyes and the arrogant set of his mouth made her reconsider. After all, she could beat him. She could.

"And what would you be willing to lose?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Gendry chuckled under his breath and stepped closer again, so that he was looking straight down at her. "Oh milady," he said, causing her to grind her teeth, "I don't intend on losing anything." His intense gaze made Arya's breath hitch in her throat, and she didn't know if she wanted to step away or step closer.

Arya bit her lip; there was more at stake than just winning or losing. If she beat Gendry in front of his men, it would be humiliating. It would make him seem weaker to them, and the news that their Lord was beat by a girl would spread around camp like wild fire. It would utterly destroy his reputation. But if she lost, she would be proving everyone who ever told her that she could never keep up, and that she should stick to sewing, right. Perhaps... perhaps it would be possible to beat him, but in a way that it appeared to the gathering that they were equally good. If she held back, let him get a few moves in, gave him a few effectless blows, made it look even BEFORE she beat him... then neither would lose their reputation.

She stepped closer to him, smirking up at him. "Well, neither do I," she breathed, before stepping away slightly, remembering the small gathering. "When I win, I can choose anything?" She asked.

Gendry narrowed his eyes, his turn in being suspicious. "If," he said, "If you win, then yes- apart from rescinding our other wager, or putting yourself in danger. But other than that, anything you want." He watched her carefully, and Arya could see him trying to guess what she might choose.

"Alright, " she said. "When I win, I get to train Jayce how I want. You won't butt in again, you won't tell me what I can and can't do- if you don't like it, keep your mouth shut." She smiled. "I want complete monopoly over his training."

She watched with satisfaction as Gendry tensed, watching the way his brow lowered over his eyes. "Fine," he said abruptly after a pause. "Fine, if you win, you can train him as you want. But when I win, no complaining, or arguing when we get to Storms End." Arya contemplated for a moment, and then nodded. Gendry grinned, and stepped back, getting ready to take his stance. Arya, however, didn't bother. Her staff was tucked away neatly behind her back, her feet shoulder width apart.

"Whenever you're ready," Gendry said, gesturing at her.

"Oh, I am," Arya said lightly, not moving. Gendry watched her for a moment, confused, unwilling to make the first move. He took a step to the left, clearly expecting for Arya to mirror him, as two opponents normally would in battle... but Arya didn't so much as twitch a muscle. He faltered, and then carried on walking around her in a circle, becoming more confused when she still did not move.

He gave up on the tactic and stepped back in front of her, his knees bent and ready for her to make a move. She didn't. Arya could hear the small crowd begin to mutter, but she still didn't move, watching in satisfaction as impatience and confusion began to ride across her opponents face.

Clearly believing she would never move, Gendry began to straighten up- and quick as a snake, Arya lashed out, her staff ramming into his side. Gendry cursed and stumbled back, the vicious impact almost knocking him off balance. He managed to keep upright, and brought up his staff just in time to protect his shoulder from Arya again.

The clash sent a ricochet down Arya's arm but she barely even noticed, already spinning as she launched her third attack, her staff spinning through the air to catch Gendry on the other shoulder. He grunted and lashed out at her, bringing his staff down at her, but Arya saw it coming and span to the side, not even bothering to step away.

Gendry brought the staff back, but only to try coming at her again from the side. In the second that she saw his next move Arya knew that she wouldn't be strong enough to block it, so swerved and bent over backwards as the staff swept an inch over her bent form.

She straightened up quickly and Gendry's staff was there again and, acting instinctively, she span hers to intercept it, her far hand on top and taking the brunt of the force. She grit her teeth as the force sent pain rocketing down her still painful wrist, and she used his staff as a launch, pushing off it with her own to spin away.

As she span she brought the staff around, before letting it slide through her hands slightly to extend, increasing her reach. The staff smashed into his side again before he could catch her attack, but Arya had already moved forwards to butt the end of her weapon into his stomach.

However, Gendry seemed to catch her plan. As she jutted her staff out he made to grab it, so as to yank it forwards, bringing her closer to him, but Arya caught it just in time and flipped the staff so that it would have come down hard on his shoulder- had he not brought his up just in time, bracing it horizontally in both hands. Arya slid her staff down the length of his, sending it bashing into Gendry's fingers. He winced and span the staff, so that it was held vertically, still braced against hers, and Arya didn't have time to move away as he used all of his strength to push.

His force sent her flying backwards and she would have fallen had she not employed a trick that Syrio had taught her all those years ago. As she felt herself fly back, Arya used the momentum and twisted backwards. The staff touched the ground in her hands as she vaulted backwards, before landing on her feet, smirking, as Gendry blinked in astonishment.

She gave him less than a half beat before she launched another attack, using all of the techniques she had learned in Braavos. She landed blows and pushed him back, forcing herself to hold back to not end him too quickly in front of the others, but then, suddenly, he seemed to begin really fighting back, as if it had suddenly clicked in his mind that her speed was only useful if his strength didn't catch her first.

Arya watched as sweat began to roll down his face, glad that she had tied her own hair in a messy plait. As they fought, the strands came loose and stuck to her face and neck, but Arya ignored them, completely in the zone as she attacked and evaded.

Arya span and made to bring her staff around with her, but in a move that Arya had never expected, Gendry stepped forward, bringing his own staff over her head in both hands while her back was to him. Arya gasped as he used it to yank her back sharply against his damp chest, his staff across her chest and forearms, stopping her from bringing her own weapon up.

"Would you rather ride front or back?" He asked, leaning down to speak in her ear, his breathing ragged.

Arya grit her teeth. "Neither," she snarled. "How do you feel about me teaching Jayce how to Water Dance?" Gendry barely had time to contemplate her response as Arya brought her elbows up violently, forcing his up just enough for her to slip out underneath, before dealing him a sharp blow to the thigh.

* * *

Gendry cursed as she darted away, partly because of the explosion of pain in his leg, and partly because of how she had felt when squirming in his hold as she tried to escape. However, he hadn't quite got the word past his lips when Arya nipped around and caught him again, a glancing blow to the shoulder. He growled and lashed forwards at her, but she was already gone, though he just caught a glimpse of a smug tilt of her lips.

Gendry almost paused to admire her lithe body as she ducked, her hair whirling around her head in a halo as it finally came free from its braid, but he didn't have time as he was forced to block a savage blow that would have had him spitting out blood had he not caught it in time.

 _She's fast,_ he thought, as she dodged yet another attack. _She's barely even breathing heavily_. In fact, Gendry was sure, as he watched her, that she was holding back, showing restraint. She moved in a way that only a master could, and Gendry cursed himself for his own arrogance in failing in one of the most important lessons: never underestimate your enemy. She might be tiny, and she might be a girl- but there was no mistaking that if Gendry didn't end this fight soon, she would just keep dancing around him until he was too exhausted to continue. He hadn't even landed a blow on her yet... though that could be his own reluctance to hurt her.

Arya may be extremely skilled, but her strength could never withstand his- he had noticed the way she grit her teeth when blocking his attacks, and he had barely even been putting anything behind them then. If he could just force the staff from her hands the fight would be his, and so would the wager, without her needing to get hurt. It was whether he could catch her in time though, and as he watched her slip away again, spinning around and not even pausing as she attacked, he thought it would be impossible.

But as he watched, Gendry noticed the way she had to come close to him to make her attack. His reach far outstripped her own, and to get within striking distance, Arya was forced to dart in, make her attack, and then escape as quickly as she had come.

So, with a plan, Gendry waited until she made her next attack, but instead of blocking her, he struck her staff as hard as he could from a side parry, sending her flying. She flew back and landed heavily on her back, and Gendry sighed in relief before making to approach.

* * *

Arya sucked in a breath as the full extent of Gendry's power sent her backwards violently, causing her to land painfully on her back. She heard him come closer and waited one second, then two- and then launched into a semi kip up, landing neatly upright with a snarl. She took one half beat to take satisfaction in the surprise on Gendry's face before she span, sinking as she did so and taking the staff with her. It smashed into his lower legs violently, sweeping his feet out from beneath him. She smiled as he cursed, landing heavily on his back, panting.

She flicked the staff, and pressed it against his chest, as if it were a sword, reveling in her victory and the gasps of the crowd. She smiled down at Gendry. "I guess you'll have to find a new pillion partner," she teased, just before there was a commotion on the other side of the yard, several people raising a shout as a horse broke free in a panic.

In the split second that Arya had looked up, Gendry grabbed the staff and yanked it towards him to the side, using his other hand to grab her waist. She gasped in surprise as Gendry sent her over the top off him onto the ground, and then before she could comprehend what happened, Gendry had yanked her staff from her hands and was straddling her, his knees firmly on either side of her and his hands pinning her wrists beside her head as he smirked down at her.

"You were saying?" He smirked down at her, as she sucked in a deep breath in surprise.

"You- but-" Arya struggled to sort her words out, still utterly shocked.

"But?" Gendry teased from his position on top of her. "But what?"

"You cheat!" Arya hissed, bucking her hips. "I had you- I already had you!" She snarled, and bucked more violently. "Get off of me!"

Gendry continued to smirk at her. "No, I beat you fair and square," he said, refusing to let go of her wrists. "You were distracted, and I took advantage of that." He leaned down further, so their faces were nearly touching. "I'd stop that if I were you," he said as she arched off the ground to dislodge him. "The men are like to misinterpret it." He leaned away, keeping a hold of her wrists and stood up, bringing her up with him, his feet planted on either side of her. Arya stumbled as he yanked her sharply to her feet.

"You- you- gah!" She wrenched her wrists away, but he held on, laughing and giddy with victory. "You- stupid- you are a rotten, cheating oaf! You bloody fucking Bull, I'll-!"

But what Arya planned to do never passed her lips, for Gendry's came crashing down on hers, his hand traveling up to rest on the back of her head. His fingers weaved through her thick hear and he used the grip to angle her face and pull her closer.

And it was this move, more than any of the others, that completely, and utterly took Arya by surprise. For a moment she was too shocked to move, as his mouth moved over hers forcefully, dominating her. As his lips forced hers apart, Arya slammed back into reality and remembered the gathering that had come to watch their fight.

Her eyes widened and she slammed her hands against his chest futilely, trying to push him off, but his other hand just wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer where she was unable to move to strike him or pull away. She could feel him grinning against her mouth, and as he did so his teeth lightly grazed her and she shivered.

Arya turned her face away, trying to remind him that there were people there, but he just followed her, and Arya had no choice. She gave him three seconds and then bit down hard on his lip, and felt warm, salty blood burst there immediately. He pulled away instinctively, and as he did so Arya twisted in his hold.

"Let go of me, let me go!" She snapped, cursing him to the seventh hell. Upon seeing her distress Gendry let go, infuriating her further as it left no doubt that he had not been ignoring her attempts of escape, but had simply not noticed.

"Arya what-" he asked, clearly completely confused. He made to pull her close again, but suddenly the dirk that was normally sheathed at her belt was pressed tightly against his throat. Arya barely heard the metallic zing of blades as Gendry's men pulled their swords out to defend their Lord through the blood pounding in her head.

"Let go," she bit out, her hand clutched so tightly around the hilt of the dirk that her knuckles were white. All traces of amusement had long disappeared from Gendry's face, and the second she felt his grip on her arm loosen, Arya pulled away and strode off, blinking away her anger, and struggling to separate the present from her past.

* * *

Gendry watched with shock as he stared down into Arya's beautiful grey eyes, where there shone nothing but anger and fear and something that he couldn't name. He felt a bead of blood smear down his lower lip where she had bitten him and the cold sting of her blade on his throat, indicating that she had cut him.

Slowly, he released her, and in an instant she was striding across the yard and disappearing into the woods and down the bank. His guards made to go after her, but Gendry shook his head.

"Let her go," he ordered, watching the space where she had disappeared from view. It had just been a kiss, she had been fine the day before when he kissed her like that, he couldn't understand why she had panicked like that. He turned around, running his hand through his sweaty hair as the crowd awkwardly dispersed.

He had just been so happy, not just about his victory, but just being there with her, having watched her in all of her glory as she fought- she had looked so beautiful, so perfect, as she snarled at him- he hadn't even really thought about it, he had just done it.

She had agreed to the wager and had agreed to fight; so why was she so mad at him? Gendry cursed her; he had won the fight fair and square, and she was storming off like some spoiled brat simply because he had beat her.

She had shown him up in front of his men, acting like that. Gendry grit his teeth and made his way to the inn, punching a wooden beam in anger before leaning against it and sighing. She could just be so- so difficult! It was like when he had saved her at the Twins, she got so angry over nothing- and she had done it again, ruined it. He had been so happy, and then she had taken off like that, cursing him and cutting him and storming off. Gods, she could be so frustrating!

It was some time after that that Gendry heard light footsteps across the wooden boards as someone made their way over. "You look about as rough as I feel," Jeyne offered with a sigh, twisted by a small smile. "What's wrong with you?"

Gendry breathed in deeply and sat down, staring blindly across the small yard. "Arya is- she's being impossible!" he snarled, grinding his teeth together. "We fought and I beat her fair and square." He balled up his hands. "She got all mad and then," Gendry cursed. "Then I kissed her. And she gave me this," he touched the stinging cut on his throat, "with a knife. And then disappeared." He stood up and turned his back to Jeyne, hitting out at a wooden beam before leaning against it.

Jeyne stood up beside him, and said nothing for a moment. "May I be honest, Gendry?" She asked gently. Gendry breathed out heavily and nodded. "You're an idiot."

Gendry blinked and twisted to look at her in surprise. Jeyne was always so reserved, so soft. He must have heard her wrong. "I'm the idiot?" He asked. "She was the one who got all upset and stormed off."

Jeyne crossed her arms, stubborn. "I saw what happened, Gendry. She had you on your back, her weapon at your chest; if it had been a real fight your dead body would currently be bleeding all over my yard." Gendry felt his eyes widen; since when had Jeyne been so blunt? "Yes, you did beat her- but think about how she feels!" When Gendry looked at her blankly Jeyne sighed. "Think about it, Gendry. Not only did you beat her at her own game, but you did it in front of everyone else- and you and I both know that she was holding back in that fight. And then you humiliated her by using your strength against her and reminded her that she had not only lost the fight but the wager, and then," she let out a humourless laugh. "Then you kissed her in front of everyone- after soundly beating her in front of them too! Gods, Gendry- if I were her I don't know that I would have stopped at just cutting you!"

Gendry blinked as he took in what she said. It was true; if she had not been distracted Gendry knew he would have lost, and further, if she hadn't been holding back the way she had, Gendry didn't doubt she would have won a lot sooner too. So... why had she held back? It certainly wasn't because she was afraid to hurt him, Gendry was sure that he would be black and blue come morning, but what other reason was there? The only reason Gendry could see was that she didn't want to end the fight so quickly that she embarrassed him in front of his men...

...and what had he done in return? Not only had a defeated her after she had already won, but he had then kissed her... in front of everyone... after beating her at what she was a master at.

Gendry cursed.

No wonder she had been so furious. If she had wanted to win she could have ended him in minutes, but she had spared his pride and allowed it to look almost equal, and how had he repaid her? By exposing her weaknesses in front of everyone.

Arya... he didn't understand why, but she was so guarded, all of the time. Like she was wearing a mask. And the only time she wasn't was when she was angry; either way, she came off strong. And he had just torn her down. Taken away that mask and exposed her for all to see.

It was like every single thing she did was to prove that she was a strong as anyone else, that she could give as good as she got and more, that she didn't need help from anyone- it was a defense mechanism... and Gendry had just destroyed it. And what for? A wager? Less than that?

In kissing her, Gendry had taken away her shield, and reminded all that she was a woman, not just some fearsome warrior- everything that she had striven to prove since she was a child. Gendry sighed and sat down on the steps to the inn, his head in his hands as he scrubbed his eyes. Arya was a terrifying warrior, and everything she claimed to be- but all of those other parts of herself, the vulnerable parts that she hid away; he had taken them for all to see. No wonder she was so pissed.

Gendry groaned. "Fuck," he bit out, rubbing his eyes roughly. "I'm such an idiot! Fuck!"

Jeyne put a hand on his arm. "Look, Gendry- you said it yourself; Arya isn't like any other girl. The fact she just had a full on fight with you proves that. But that doesn't mean she isn't approachable. Go and talk to her. Tell her you're sorry and then wait. Let her explain."

Gendry turned to look at her. "What if she won't?"

Jeyne offered him a smile. "Won't listen or won't talk? Just give her time. When she is ready, she'll come to you. The last thing you want is to force her into anything else right now, especially a confession about her feelings." Jeyne stood up and offered him a hand.

Gendry took it, though he didn't put any weight on it as he stood up; he would have pulled her straight over. He smiled at her slightly, wondering when she had become so wise. "And how exactly does one go about approaching an angry wolf?" He chuckled.

Jeyne smiled back, though there was something off about it in the set of her cheeks. "Quietly and with great caution." Gendry chuckled; Arya was like to bite his head off if he tried anything else.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" He asked, serious again.

Jeyne smiled at him and Gendry was surprised to see sadness in her face. "She will eventually. Just give her time. That's all you can do." And with that she turned around and walked back into her inn, her brown skirts swirling around the corner.

Gendry sighed as he watched her go, wondering just what the girl had seen during the war. She had been left in charge of all of the orphans and her little sister, the inn- when she was little more than a child herself. He pushed away from the wall and crossed the yard, over to where the horses were, searching for Jayce.

He found him sat on a barrel, still wiping blood from his mouth. Gendry winced; that would not close in a hurry. When the boy saw him he stood to rise, but Gendry shook his head.

"Stay where you are, lad," he sighed, sitting beside him on another barrel. "You look rough. How are you feeling?"

Jayce smiled and then winced as his lip split open and began to bleed again. "Well I learned my lesson," he groaned.

Gendry quirked a brow. "And what was that?"

Jayce wiped his nose with the back of hi hand. "Don't ever challenge milady to a fight." Gendry chuckled; how true that was. Had he not just learned that himself? Jayce regarded him carefully. "May I ask you something milord?" Gendry nodded, wondering what it could be. Jayce hesitated and then pulled a face. "Don't you think it was... wrong, to take advantage of her distraction?" And then hastened to add, "I know she always says never to lose concentration and all that, but she did technically have you already." He looked at Gendry pointedly, and Gendry had to admire the boys guts.

He sighed and rubbed his neck. "It was wrong," he admitted. "But the staff was still in my hand, so the fight wasn't yet over. Besides," He looked at Jayce, his lips twisting into a half smile, "did Arya not just prove to you that she doesn't need to be taken care of?"

Jayce chuckled and looked down. "Aye, that's true. She left proof of that all over me." Gendry laughed deeply as Jayce pulled up his shirt to show Gendry the mass of purple and black bruises on his side.

After a moment Gendry looked back at the boy. "What was that commotion? That distracted Arya?" He asked with a frown, his brow lowered.

Jayce frowned too. "It was strange," he admitted, before nodding at the thick trees and undergrowth on the other side of the stables. "The horses had been uneasy for a while, and then just freaked away from the woods. They were terrified." He seemed disconcerted by the event, and Gendry frowned. It was possible that there had been wild dogs nearby, or perhaps even wolves... or worse, it could have been outlaws. Spies sent by Euron or Elmar Frey, camping in the trees... where Arya was now, somewhere.

Gendry jumped up. "If Lady Arya comes back, send someone out to find me," he said, and Jayce, though startled, nodded. Gendry pursed his lips and went off in search of Arya, hoping very much that the monsters in the woods were less of a threat than an angry Arya would be when he found her.

* * *

The rough bark of the tree dug into her back, and half rotted leaves clung to the fibers of her clothes, damp and soft. At Winterfell the leaves were always crisp and crunchy. In Braavos there had been no leaves, because there were no trees. It was still strange to Arya, how one could always tell where they were by something so simple as leaves. She remembered how her mother used to love visiting the glass gardens at Winterfell, where flowers of all kinds grew, a small reminder of home. But Arya found no comfort here. Not among the stagnant, wet foliage and the bitty soil.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her legs more tightly, staring blankly into the darkening air of the evening. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, and Arya wished that she could go and join it. _I'm a wolf_ , she thought. _A_ _direwolf_. She didn't belong here, with the summer rains and warm sun. She belonged... where? Where did she belong?

Arya tried to remember the last time she had truly belonged, and found that she could not think of one. _When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies and the pack survives._ That was what her father used to say. She used to think he had it all backwards; she had been the lone wolf, and she had survived when no one else had. And even when she found her pack again... she didn't truly fit in anymore.

Perhaps it was because of the life she had led, the things she had experienced, what she had seen. The things she had done and what she had almost become. What she _had_ become, what she was forced to become to survive the winter, whether it was the one her father spoke of or not. And maybe that was why she had reacted as she had, when Gendry had kissed her.

Thinking about him made her jaw clench and her stomach contract with anger. She had held back on the fight to spare him humiliation, she had won. She had him on his back. And he had cheated. But... had he really?

What was it that she had been telling Jayce? Never let your guard down. Never misjudge your enemy. Always be ready. Strike before you're struck. _Kill before you're killed._ And in that moment, when there had been a commotion- she had forgotten all of those lessons that had been so instilled in her, and Gendry had used that. He had only done as she would have done... so why was she still so angry about it?

Arya shivered, the warmth of her body having long leeched through her thin tunic and into the air, but she didn't mind. It felt clean, and helped her to ignore the soggy leaves and the sickly sweet smell of the sap that oozed form a split in the tree.

Maybe... maybe she just wasn't as good as she thought she was. Maybe she was just pretending to be a warrior. All of a sudden, Arya felt just like the little girl that played at being a warrior, the little girl that had challenged Thoros in the tavern, the child that had tried to fight the Hound. And that was surely what everyone, everyone who had just seen Gendry defeat her, was thinking now.

Arya growled and hit the stupid tree, imagining that it was Gendry. No, it wasn't the fight that was bothering her. It was the kiss. The stupid, bloody, fucking kiss. Why had he done that? To embarrass her? To humiliate her further? Whether that has been his reason, it was still just what he had done.

When she had run away from the yard, Arya had wanted nothing more than to keep running. Where to she didn't know, she just need to run, to hunt, to regain some semblance of control over herself. An owl hooted somewhere above her, and Arya sighed and closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

Nymeria, when close enough, was no problem. Arya could flit in and out of the wolfs conscience as easy as breathing, and she now understood that she had been doing it for years. All of those wolf dreams, all of the times when she was blind and she saw through the cats eyes. She had told Jon of her abilities... but not to their full extent. No, Jon did not know that as well as being a warg, Arya was a skin changer.

Perhaps she could warg into that wolf, she thought. She could find Nymeria and become her, run in her and hunt in her, live in her skin- Arya knuckled at her eyes. She had done too much of living in other skins.

The owl hooted again, and Arya focused... and then the darkness was clearer, and rather than looking up at the branches, she was looking down at the ground. She clacked her beak and ruffled her feathers. The girl on the ground had gone limp and still, and she wondered if she was dead.

The woods were alive with sounds, sounds that had not been there a moment before, an insect darting up a tree, a piece of bark cracking, men in the distance, a pack hunting nearby, their large paws thudding the earth mercilessly... the forest was alive.

She ruffled her feathers and pushed away from where she had been perched, spreading out her long brown feathers and swooping through the air, cutting through the breeze. A fox darted down a hole below her, and the leaves rustled as she flew past, and then there were two men, both on horses, heading the way that she had just come from. The men were talking lowly to each other, but she didn't care. Men were stupid, always fighting and killing themselves off. No, she would be better just staying away...

... but there was something about them, something suspicious. Cautiously, she flew around, following him to see what they were doing, careful to stay out of sight. Eventually the men came to her tree, and she landed on her branch.

Suddenly the man in the lead reined up, his horse snorting in indignation. "Whoa, whoa, hold it!" His companion groaned.

"What is it this time?" He complained, looking around him to see what was wrong.

"Over there, look." The man was pointing at the base of a tree, where the limp girl was. "Is that a girl?"

The second rider snorted. "Well it certainly ain't no bloke. It's probably just a tavern wench or something, who cares?" He made to leave, clearly not in the mood for distractions. "Looks dead to me anyway. I wouldn't go near it, you might catch something." The first rider seemed hesitant to leave without investigating and the second one sighed impatiently. "We gotta get back to the group anyway. See if them others have finally turned up." He spurred on his horse and the other man followed, disappearing into the darkness...

...Arya shuddered as she withdrew herself from the owls conscience, shivering. Who had those men been? Outlaws? Rangers? What if there were more, they had mentioned others. Arya jumped to her feet nimbly. Gendry would want to know about this, they could be spies... but did he really need to know?

He was paranoid enough as it was, he didn't need any more fuel to add the fire; Arya had no doubt that if she told him he would rescind on his agreement to take away her escorts. No, Gendry didn't need to know about it. He would just worry, and hells- he was already so overprotective. Besides, Arya could handle it. She could.

She strode through the trees gracefully, unperturbed by the now darkening light, each foot fall confident and well placed. She made her way quickly, hoping to put as much distance as possible between her and the men. It was lucky, really, she thought as she stepped over a small stream. If she hadn't skin changed into that owl, they would never have thought her dead. Not that she would have let them get close enough to do anything; she would have heard them and shimmied up a tree out of sight. But still; it could have been worse.

And then, she heard a thud somewhere to her left. She paused, not moving a muscle as she strained to hear. A horse, she was sure of it. Was it possible that the men had circled around? She listened more intently; it didn't sound like two horses, just the one. Arya hopped down a bank and hid in a crevice, wishing the trees here had lower branches.

She listened as the horse came closer; perhaps it was the more curious man that had come back, alone? She could take him no problem... but it would be messy, and potentially loud. She didn't need the second man to come running, and she didn't know where the others that he had talked of were. They could be nearby, and if she made a noise... the odds were not favourable. Not for the first time that day, Arya cursed herself.

The horse seemed to stop and there was a moment silence, save for breathing and the sound of Arya's heart pounding. She forced herself to stay completely still when there was a thud as the rider dismounted, and then... nothing. Arya could not hear a single thing. She waited, holding her breath. Her hand shifted towards her knife, her fingers tightening around the hilt, but still: nothing.

Arya breathed out in relief and let her fingers relax, when there was a burst of scuffling and she found herself being yanked, lifted up into the air and backwards. She gasped and threw her head back into the persons face, tossing in her captors arms. The man grunted and lost his balance, landing in the leaves. Arya tried to crawl away but his hands grabbed her and flipped her over, before he straddled her waist, pinning her to the ground... freezing as he felt her dirk at his throat.

"...Arya?" The person asked in disbelief, and Arya sighed deeply, dropping her knife upon hearing the familiar deep voice. The knife thudded in the leaves by her head, and the person relaxed.

"Gendry, what in seven hells were you doing?" She hissed, her eyes finding his in the dark.

Gendry, however, narrowed his eyes. "Me? What in seven hells were you doing?" He seemed to remember that he was still holding her down and let go of her wrists as he moved off of her, allowing her to sit up. He watched her intently as she sheathed her knife and ran his hands through his hair. "Arya, I nearly killed you," he said sternly, fixing her with his gaze.

Arya huffed. "I was the one that had a knife at your throat," she said, pulling up a knee. She made to stand up, but Gendry put his hand on her leg, and she raised a brow at him as she sat back down.

"Arya, I'm serious," he said firmly. Arya rolled her eyes and made to get up again , but Gendry pushed on her leg. Arya groaned and lolled her head in exasperation, but Gendry ploughed on. "What was your plan? To just wait and see if you were attacked?"

Arya fixed him with a stare. "I was ready, alright? I'd been expecting something like that, I was fine." She jerked her knee and stood up, gritting her teeth when he stood up straight away.

"You were expecting something?" He asked, incredulous. He strode over to her, and stood, towering over her with a thunderous expression as he absorbed what she said. "Just who did you think I was?" He asked, his voice dangerously low.

Arya felt her eyelids flutter shut briefly. "That isn't what I meant," she sighed, hoping he wouldn't catch the lie. "I just meant that I'm used to it, alright? Alone in the woods, at nightfall- I'd be stupid not to expect trouble." She crossed her arms and watched with satisfaction as he bought it, though he still didn't look too pleased.

"Right, well," he scowled. "Let's go." He walked off and Arya rolled her eyes again. Normally she would have argued, but sensing that there would be no point, she allowed him to lift her onto Rogue before swinging up behind her.

As he spurred Rogue on Arya grit her teeth. How often was this going to be a thing? She hated pillion riding. Sensing her discomfort, Gendry let out a single chuckle. "You still hate it, don't you?" He asked. Arya did not bother replying, and Gendry sighed. "Look, I'm not going to make you ride pillion with me at Storms End, not if you don't want to." He paused and Arya sensed he had more to say, so waited while he articulated it. "I know that when we were fighting you were holding back. I know that you only did it to save my pride. I thank you for that, Arya." He seemed tense as he waited for her reply, and Arya chewed her lip.

"You would have done the same for me," she said carefully, fiddling with a piece of Rogue's mane.

She felt Gendry shake his head behind her. "But I didn't. I beat you in front of everyone, even though you already had the fight. And then I made it worse." He sighed and retracted an arm from around her waist to push his hair back. "I acted like an ass, Arya. I just... I didn't think."

"No," Arya said quietly. "You didn't... but," she closed her eyes briefly, "Mayhaps I did overreact. That being said," she added, lightly jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, "if you do it again, I'll show you what I'm really capable of." Gendry chuckled and she smiled.

"I'd like that," Gendry said after a moment. "To truly see what you can do. I saw you your first time with Dark Sister, and holding back earlier- but I've never truly seen you train in earnest." He paused and then studied her face intensely, and Arya had to fight not to squirm under his gaze. "Where exactly did you learn to fight like that?" He asked.

 _With death worshipers_ , she thought. "Nowhere, really. Like I said, I just trained myself when I could." He didn't say anything, but Arya got the feeling that he wasn't buying her story. It was something that confused her; everyone else fell for her lies, but not him. How? Why? She didn't understand, but she wasn't sure if it was a bad thing. In a way... it was nice, having someone who didn't just listen unquestioning.

The only other person who was like that was Jon, though in an entirely different way. It was as if her brother knew when she was lying, but also why, but instead of questioning her... he just let things be. He trusted her enough to come to him if she really needed to... but more often than not, Gendry didn't just let it lie; he challenged her, and though both men were so different, Arya didn't know which was better.

Soon the Inn was in sight, and Gendry reigned up in the courtyard. The windows glowed softly with candle light, and Arya watched an upstairs window grow dark, the light guttering out as someone blew it out. It was an oddly lonely thing to see, and she felt her heart tug.

As a squire led away Rogue Arya made her way to the small wooden porch and sat down, not yet wanting to go in. She knew that she was not likely to sleep that night, and if she did it would only be plagued by nightmares; the whole inn... it was unsettling. She wondered when she had last had a wolf dream.

She sighed and leaned her elbows on her knees, rubbing her face with her hands before inhaling and sitting back, staring aimlessly into the darkness. She listened to Gendry approach and sit down next to her. They sat in silence for a few minutes, content to just listen to the sounds of chatter inside the inn and the feel the soft breeze wash gently over their skin.

Arya sighed and leaned her head against Gendry's arm, his shoulder being too high to comfortably reach. "I hate this place," she sighed, picking idly at a splinter in the wooden step. She felt him shift slightly as he looked down at her.

"What was that about?" He asked, nudging her knee. "This morning, I mean?" Arya sighed, and chewed her lip. She got the feeling that he had been thinking about it, and she took his hand in hers and squeezed before letting go again.

Arya licked her lips. "The boy who left that stain was a squire," she said. "The one by the table. The bigger one in the middle of the room was the Tickler." She let her words hang in the air, like washing on a line without any wind.

"... What do you mean?" Gendry asked after a beat.

Arya bit her lip. "After the Hound took me, we came here. When we were outside I saw Polliver, with Needle, and when we went inside it was a group of Lannister soldiers, molesting a girl. Polliver started talking to Sandor, and a fight broke out." She chewed her lip, ignoring the irony pang of blood on her tongue. "I stabbed the squire with his own knife, and left him bleeding on the floor. Then... The Tickler. I stabbed him in the back, over and over and over, asking him all of those fucking questions." Arya clutched at her head. "Is there gold in the village? Silver? Gems? Is there food? Where is Lord Beric? Where did he go? How many men are with him? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how fucking many." Arya stood up and kicked the wooden column.

"That's why the stain is so big. I sat on top of him and stabbed him until even the Hound was disturbed. He had to drag me off of the body." _"Enough."_ Arya swore. "That bastard. That fucking bastard." She didn't know if she was talking about the Hound or the Tickler. She leaned against the column and sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "That stain... Gods, I forgot about that day."

She became aware of Gendry stood behind her, his large hand on her shoulder. He didn't say anything, just rubbed circles through her shirt with his thumb. Arya sighed again.

Eventually he spoke, his voice surprisingly steady. "I'm glad that you killed him," he said, and Arya nodded. "I try to forget Harrenhal, but it just won't go away." He let go of her and sat back down, and after a moment Arya sat next to him.

"Can you still smell it?" She asked, knowing he would understand. He nodded, and Arya clenched her jaw.

After a minute, Gendry cleared his throat. "You know, I was here before the Red Woman took me. For months, it's how I know Jeyne and Willow, they were looking after orphans here." Arya looked at him through the corner of her eye to see him staring blankly at the empty yard. "The kids used to tell stories about those stains. Jeyne hates them, tried everything she could to get rid of them, but I guess, like Harrenhal, they just won't go away," he finished with a sigh, and Arya looked at him.

This time, tentatively, Gendry took her hand, and held it lightly, tracing the litter of scars. Arya liked her hands. It was absurd, she knew, but ever since she was small she had liked them more than anything else about herself. They were calloused now, from years of holding swords, but they were like Jon's. Smaller, softer versions of Jon's.

Thinking about him raised a spike in her stomach, and Arya almost wanted to rub it away. She was so mad at him, for how he had treated her... but she missed him so much. Almost more than she had before. She missed the way he smiled at her, and the way he mussed her hair and called her little sister. She wished everything was the same as it had been back then. When things were simple, and happy and perfect. Before all of this mess.

It was true that Needle was too small for her now, she knew that. Braavo blades were all small, but Jon had hers made when she was a child, and as such it was even smaller. But she found it hard to train with Dark Sister. It was true that Jon had given her the Valyrian steel as a gift as well, but Needle was special. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. Using Dark Sister felt like some kind of betrayal. Thinking of Jon reminded her, and she squeezed Gendry's hand.

"Gendry, you have to promise me that you won't tell Jon about the things I tell you" she said, biting her lip. "You know what he's like. I know that you report things back to him, I'm not stupid, but there are some things that are better left alone." She felt his freeze for a heart beat, and then he nodded, and she relaxed.

"I was thinking that we could stop in Kings Landing," he said suddenly. "He'll be there soon, if not already, and we have to go past anyway. I had originally meant to just go straight to Storms End, but we'll be running low on provisions, and I know that you miss him more than you let on."

Arya twisted her head to look at him, wondering if he was teasing her somehow, but there was no hint of joke on his face. "That would be nice," she admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I am still mad at him for everything, but... he's Jon." She felt her smile drop a little, and Gendry peered at her through the dark.

"You love him very much, don't you?" He asked. A bout of laughter exploded from the inn, and Arya almost jumped.

She swallowed. "I do," she said simply, her voice thick. He waited for her to expand, but she gave him a half smile, and rested her head against his arm, unable to reach his shoulder again. "What about you?" She asked, changing the subject. "What happened to you, who did you have?" She knew that he stayed with the Brotherhood, and then they sold him to Stannis, and then he fought for Jon, but other than that... he knew where she had been- in a manner- but she knew very little about him.

He shrugged, jostling her. "I told you already, I was with the Brotherhood, then Stannis took me. Then I went to Kings Landing for a while, before I went with Jon." He shrugged again, and Arya frowned when her hair went static. He chuckled when she tried to smooth it down. "I'm not as travelled as well as you."

Arya looked up at him, rolling her eyes. "I wasn't exactly on holiday. But what did you do, where did you go- what about that woman? The one you were with before?" His face snapped down to her, his eyes narrowed, and Arya cursed herself.

"What do you mean?" He asked, frowning. Arya bit her lip, and went with the truth.

"Do you remember when we were staying at Greywater Watch?" She asked. Gendry nodded suspiciously. "Well I heard you talking to the Brotherhood about a woman that you loved once. Who was she?" She watched as his face changed from confused to cautious in a split second, the way his mouth twisted and his eyes darting at her face to see if she was japing.

"She was just some woman," he said slowly. "She wasn't important." Arya huffed in disbelief and he sighed, running his hand through his thick hair, leaving it all ruffled. "It was when I was at Dragonstone, with Stannis. You remember how I said the Red Woman took my blood, and to do that she seduced me?" Arya nodded, confused.

"If that was all it was then why did you sound so worried about me finding out?" She asked, and Gendry blushed, a dusky red spreading over his tan cheeks.

"You heard everything, huh?" He asked. This time Arya blushed. "It wasn't the relation I had with her, it was the whole thing together," he said, sounding frustrated as he attempted to articulate what he was trying to say. Arya waited while he cleared his mind, wondering what it could be that was so bad that he couldn't phrase it.

"You see, the whole reason that Melisandre wanted me," he said her name with a hint of bitterness, his mouth twisting at the foreign name, "was for my blood. Apparently kings blood has power." He scoffed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Whether her Light God is real or not I don't know, but she can't have been too far off the mark." He sighed and Arya began to feel something tighten in her chest, like he was leading up to something that he didn't want to say.

"How do you mean?" She asked carefully, pulling away to look at him. His eyes were shrouded in shadow, but the flickering of a candle in a window behind him shone in them, bringing out the brilliant blue in the dark.

"She put leeches on me, and took my blood, and then Stannis came in," he said, his voice harder than before. "She told him to throw each leech in the fire and say a name to prove her Gods power. And whoever he said would die."

Arya felt the breath shudder in her throat. Blood magic... it was more powerful than the people of Westeros would ever understand. When she had travelled, the things she had seen it do... her blood went cold and she took Gendry's face in her hand to get him to look at her. "You're talking about Blood Magic?" She asked, and he nodded. A worm of dread wrapped its way around her heart, and she felt it freeze. Whatever he had to say... it couldn't be good.

"He said three names," Gendry said, and Arya almost knew it. Knew before it passed his lips. "He said the usurpers Balon Greyjoy and Joffrey Baratheon." He clenched his jaw, and Arya saw his temple twitch. "He said your brothers name, too. The usurper Robb Stark. He killed your brother with my blood." He stared at her worriedly, but Arya made no response.

Her hand froze on his face, and then fell away slowly, and she felt somehow frozen, like nothing was really there. She stared at his strong face and saw nothing, and it felt as though there was no ground beneath her feet. Walder Frey had killed her brother, and Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister, not some- some fire god. It had been war, people died, and that was that... but what if- what if there had been some dark force that caused his death? Arya had seen enough strange things that it didn't seem impossible.

Melisandre clearly had some sort of power if she had brought back Jon, so it didn't seem unfeasible that she could cause other things. Arya had seen so many Gods; the Old Gods, the Many Faced God, the Red God, the Horse God, the Seven and so many others that she couldn't remember them all. And every single one's followers claimed that their God was the true God, and the only God with powers. So if all of them said that, yet all could achieve miracles, surely the Gods power had nothing to do with it? These- these miracles being performed were the works of man? No, she thought, she had seen so many things, wonders and evils and miracles that couldn't be explained by anything but magic. No human had the power to bring back the dead... but Melisandre had. Hell's, Thoros had done it seven times. So if it was possible to bring someone back to life with magic, it was possible to kill someone with magic as well.

So... was it true that, if Gendry hadn't fallen for Melisandre's tricks, Robb might still be alive? Her mother? Would she still have a family? Maybe Roose Bolton wouldn't have betrayed them, and Rickon would still be alive. Was it possible that she might have had four brothers instead of two? And one parent instead of none? A spike of bitter longing spread suddenly through her being, tingling in her fingertips, and making her skin feel tight somehow.

Gendry couldn't have known what she would do, but he must have known that something was up. That Stannis hadn't just bought him for no reason- especially as Gendry could be contest for the throne. A rush of anger pulled at her chest, and Arya withdrew her hand from his cheek. She had started to think that he wasn't as stupid as she had once thought, but maybe he was.

Whether he was or he wasn't, though, made little matter, for either way, Robb was dead, and so was her mother. What might have happened, if Gendry could have controlled himself? Robb could have won the war. He could have destroyed the Lannisters, been King in the North. He didn't even have anything against Stannis. _He would be a father now,_ she thought. And Gendry's stupidity had taken that, and left him dead. It was like the House of Black and White again. Stannis offered a name, and a life was taken. _The Many Faced God must receive what is his._

It was irrational, Arya knew that. How could Gendry have ever known what would happen? He wasn't the one that spoke the words. He didn't ever even meet Robb. Arya wondered what would have happened if they had met each other. She looked back at Gendry, who was watching her with guilt ridden eyes.

She swallowed thickly and stood up. "Gendry, I don't blame you," she said softly. "It wasn't your fault. Robb didn't die because of Melisandre asking her Lord of Light to smite him, he died because it was war. And that's what happens at war. People die."

He stood up, and made to touch her, but Arya stepped backwards, wanting to be alone. "It's late. I'm going to go to bed. I'll see you in the morning, alright?" He nodded slowly, and Arya turned her back, and walked slowly into the inn, through the common room, and up the crooked staircase.

She stepped into her room, shut the door behind her, and sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. _Would the_ _pain ever stop?_ She thought, lightly hitting the door with her head. She had killed the Freys, it was over... but it wasn't, really, was it? And as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, dreams filled with the colour red, red fire, red blood, and Robbs red- brown hair, she thought that it never really would be.

 **Alright, I know you hate me! It's been aaages since I last updated, I know. But to make it up to you, this chapter is extra long! *Forward rolls and offers to you on a silver plate* As always, review away or drop a cheeky pm, I'll try to get back to you! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or followed or favourited- I'm glad you all like it! Anyhoo, I'll leave you to it! Over and Out xoxo**

 **Note: OMG WHO ELSE SAW EPISODE THREE?! OH MY GOSH I WON'T SPOIL FOR ANYONE THAT HASN'T SEEN IT- BUT I'M SHOOK. FULLY SHOOKENED. COMPLETELY SHOOKETH. FJKBGFKDSEDWUGHJK**


	24. Charcoal and Character

**DISCLAIMER: Must I do this every time? Rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Waay-o readers, whats up? I know, I know, you all hate me! I'm a slow updater, but I made the last chapter double the length they normally are, so I hope it was a decent apology. As always, lots of big thank yous to my reviewers- they make me so happy! Anyway, I'm thinking of upping the pace of the story a little bit, because I worry that I write a lot, without actually saying very much- their journey was only supposed to be a few chapters and instead its been about 15... sorry! Idk, I just get so many ideas and I want to cram them all in, which I know is silly. But oh well. Tbh there are quite a lot of things I would go back and re do if I could... but again, oh well. Anyway, a few people have asked for a little recap of everything that has happened, so here it is:**

 **After the war, Jon finds Arya beyond the Wall and brings her home. All seems chill, and then suddenly Jon has made a betrothal between her and a man she doesn't know. Arya gets a wee bit frustrated *cough* tries to stab Jon *cough* and legs it, but she is caught. She finds out that the secret lord is actually a legitimatized Gendry Baratheon, but she's still pretty pissed at Jon for the whole malarkey. She begins her travel South with the Baratheon company, and Gendry tells her that Jon only did it for her own safety, as her once upon a time betrothed, Elmar Frey, is trying to get her back. Somewhat unbeknownst to Jon and Gendry, Euron Greyjoy is after her as well, and is using Elmar Frey as a way to rebel against the new Targaryen rule. Arya and Gendry make a wager that if Gendry can get Arya to say that she loves him within the year, she'll marry him, and if not, he'll allow the betrothal to be broken and will help her to become a Kings Guard to Jon. They become closer, initially as friends, and then something old begins to spark again. Arya agrees to teach Jayce- Gendry's squire- to fight. Arya is confused about her feelings towards Gendry after a kiss shared in a heated moment. Still in denial, Arya runs off alone to the Twins, where they had been camping near by, and gets attacked. Gendry comes and saves her at the last moment, having woken up alone. The attackers were cheap sell swords, sent by an unknown person. Arya and Gendry have a bit of a fight, in which Arya ends up breaking her wrist. They come to the Crossroads inn, where Gendry reunites with the Heddle sisters. The two share another kiss in the forge, and make up... until Gendry pulls a sneaky on her after challenging her to a fight after seeing her train Jayce in the Braavosi style. Arya deliberately holds back to spare his reputation in front of his men, and beats him, and then he pulls a trick when she is distracted, and wins the fight, as well as the wager they had made before hand. He then kisses her in front of his men, which angers her, and she runs off to the woods. In the woods Arya hears two men talking about meeting a group, but decides not to tell Gendry. Gendry finds her and they go back to the inn and talk about their pasts a little, which leads to Arya learning of how it was Gendry's blood that Melisandre used to kill Robb. Arya is confused about what she thinks, knowing it isn't Gendry's fault, but wishing he hadn't fallen for the red woman's trick. She understands that Blood Magic is incredibly powerful, and very dangerous, having seen it in her past when she travelled to Asshai, but doesn't want to believe Robb died as a result of it. She goes to bed alone, confused about her feelings towards Gendry.**

 **So, there you have it! Hope that was a chill explanation, if not please feel free to message me or review or whatever, and I will do my best to answer any questions! Hope you all enjoy the next chapter, Over and Out xoxo**

Arya swung up neatly onto Astrid's back, while the mare shook her mane and snorted. Fresh from four days of no exercise, the mare made to rush forwards, champing at the bit, but Arya snatched up the reins and pulled her back. The day was particularly warm, and already the back of Arya's blue shirt felt slightly sticky. As she waited for the others to make ready to leave, Arya tucked the side of the shirt into her brown breeches with her thumb. A pair of hounds lolloped past her, tongues lolling and tails wagging, and Astrid chucked her head.

The yard was a tangle of horses and people, squires waiting for their lords, horses stamping their hooves with impatience, men making sure they had everything. The yard rang with squabble and shouts, and loud laughter, but all quieted when Gendry roared for quiet. Arya felt his gaze sweep over her, and busied herself with checking her girth.

"Men!" He shouted, trotting forward a couple of paces and pulling Rogue about when the stallion had other ideas. "Kings Landing awaits, and then home!" The men cheered and laughed, and when Gendry trotted out of the yard they followed, banners fluttering in the breeze. The rest of the host was already camped across the Trident at Darry, where Gendry had called in each day, politely declining their offer to stay a while. Arya was relieved; it was time to get on the move. Besides, staying in another castle would mean close quarters with Gendry, and she wasn't sure what to say to him.

She had spent the last two days avoiding the tall man, rising early and taking Jayce out to the woods to practice, exploring the area, making certain to stay away from the forge, where he seemed to spend a great deal of time, the sounds of hammer on steel singing across the yard throughout the day. When he left to visit the company at Darry, she stayed behind, and when he came back she left herself, visiting the Brotherhood.

Anguy had asked straight away what was going on, but Arya had simply said nothing. "Aye," the archer had replied, "and that's why the man has been in a foul mood all day." Arya had made no reply, apart from to ask if he wanted to hunt or not. While her frustrations were not conductive towards Gendry, they seemed productive on the hunt, for they ate well that night with rabbits to spare for salting.

She watched him from behind as he lead the group of minor lords and his own household from the inn, sat atop his magnificent black stallion. For a boy who had been born in Flea Bottom, he sure looked like a proper lord, she thought idly, his black leather jerkin straining across his muscles, and his war horse dancing beneath him. For all that she had avoided him, it seemed that he avoided her.

The smaller group made good time, crossing the Trident with time to spare, the water as calm and still as the weather, and they were soon with the rest of the company, who were ready to go when they arrived. Not wishing to stop for longer than necessary, Gendry pushed for the company to make good pace, having conveyed his gratitude to the Darry inhabitants the night before. The weather had left the ground good going, and when they came to a stop Arya almost wished they could just keep going, restless from the days spent at the inn.

She dismounted and handed Astrid reluctantly to a squire, a boy she recognised as one of Jayce's friends, before heading off, her sleeping skins and furs slung over her shoulder in leather straps. As was her custom, she walked through camp, stopping only to take a skin of water from a wagon, finding the edge of camp. She carried on a small ways, to a clump of trees up a small hill, overlooking camp, feeling more comfortable under their shelter than out in the open ground. She forced herself to think only of her tasks, rolling out her skins and setting out her furs, collecting firewood and placing it in a lattice before flinting it. She sat on the edge of her furs and poked the fire, watching as it grew within the little pit she had dug.

Refusing to think about... whatever was happening with Gendry, Arya set up a small shelter; she had only done it a couple of times, but she had enjoyed watching the charcoal burn. She remembered her father teaching Robb and Jon and Theon once, and though she hadn't been allowed to join in, she had watched carefully. The one her father had made had been huge, making enough charcoal to last for months, but she had done it before on smaller ones.

Methodically, Arya used a rock the size of a plate to dig a large pit in the mud, about two foot by two foot, about six inches deep. In the middle she dug another hole, much deeper but smaller. Then, by the fire light, Arya collected dry wood, armfuls of it, until there was a pile beside her ditch that seemed enough. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work, choosing the biggest log and placing it upright in the hole, so that it stood erect. Around it she placed the next largest few logs, and then the next and then the next, until a sort of pyramid formed, with the smaller pieces of wood on the outside and the larger ones inside.

Despite the evening air, Arya kept warm, collecting armfuls of dried leaves, all of them dead and brown and crunchy. She laid them neatly over the wood, until almost none of it could be seen, save for a large mound of leaves. The next part was the trickiest; she would need mud, and a lot of it. Luckily the Trident had plenty of smaller branches, and Arya found one a few minutes walk away, a pond that was fed from an underground spring. The mud here was black in colour, and cold, but Arya pushed back her sleeves and got to work.

It would be impossible, she decided, to carry the mud back in her hands, so she walked back to her skin and took the thinner under skin, already dirty. She set it down by the pond and covered it with leaves, before she scooped up as much mud as she could. It smelt funny, and it clung to her skin, drying from her body heat. It stuck to her arm hairs, but she ignored it, and took a corner of the skin in each hand, before pulling it back to her mound of wood and leaves, heavier than she had thought originally.

Arya was kneeling by the pyramid of wood, slapping on the mud with her hands, when she thought she sensed something nearby. She stopped her movements and listened intently, but she couldn't hear anything. Still, her skin prickled, and she felt a sudden pang of hunger, as if she hadn't eaten in days, before it ebbed away. Arya shook her head; she would have to wait until the charcoal was finished before she went back to camp to eat. The pit needed constant surveillance, or it would leave the charcoal half finished and of no use.

As she used her fingers to smooth over a crack in the mud there was a sound behind her, and Arya paused again, cocking her head; she was sure she had heard something again that time. She twisted around from her one knee crouch, and saw Gendry stood behind her, watching her skeptically, as if he was considering her going mad. She swallowed and turned around, scooping up another handful of mud and slapping it on the mound.

"I know I said you could have your freedom, but I would still prefer that you didn't just leave without telling anyone," he said from behind, as he walked a little closer to her. Arya slapped on some more mud. "What are you even doing?" He asked, the skepticism evident in his voice.

"Burning charcoal," she replied, using her elbow to rub her nose, her hands too caked in mud. She heard him pause and then walk up to her and crouch down. Shew turned to look at him, a half smile on her lips, to see him watching her intensely. She bit the inside of her cheek and turned back to look at what she was doing, but Gendry's hand rose and caught her face. She raised a brow at him questioningly.

"You have a bit of mud," he said lowly, his thumb brushing her cheekbone lightly. "Just there." She watched him quietly as he wiped the mud from her cheek with his thumb. Once he had done, his hand lingered there before falling away. She chewed her lip and went back to smearing mud on the mound.

"You know that we have a proper coal oven at Storms End, don't you?" He asked.

Arya shrugged. "My father used to do it every autumn," she said, before pausing. "Do the other side?" She asked, looking at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and he nodded, moving to the side and rolling up his sleeves. The stayed silent for a few moments, slapping mud onto the mound. Arya patted down her side firmly, and used her fingers to smear the mud, concealing all and any cracks. Cracks were bad; they let out the heat and combustion couldn't take place properly. Kind of like her, she thought.

As she did so, Arya's eyes drifted to Gendry, his lips slightly parted as he smoothed the mud over with his hands. Arya watched him quietly, taking in the way his shoulders rippled with each movement, the tendons in his neck straining as his head bent down. He seemed to sense her watching him, and his eyes flickered up briefly. He sent her a small smile and then refocused on his work. Arya shook her head slightly and stood up to put some more wood on the fire.

She looked over at him again, as he worked, and then back to the fire. "I'm not mad at you, you know," she said smoothly, not looking up. She felt his gaze flicker up at her. "About Robb and the Red Woman. I don't blame you." She added another log to the fire, not looking up as he walked over to her. She reached to tweak a log, but his hand caught her wrist, stilling her movement.

He pulled her up gently, and she looked up at him. His face was wracked with guilt, and she narrowed her eyes. "You listen to me, you bull," she said firmly, staring in his eyes as if daring him to challenge her. "Now, I don't know what God is real, or if there are even any gods up there at all, but even if the Red God is the true God, and what Melisandre did was real- it was her that killed my brother, not you." She took his face in her hands, and looked into his eyes, beautifully blue and full of pain.

Gendry made to pull his face away, sighing as if to argue, but Arya gripped more tightly and turned him back to look at her. "No. I won't hear it. Alright?"

Gendry stepped closer to her and took her shoulders in his hands. Arya had to step back to see his face properly. "You aren't mad?" He asked cautiously.

Arya pursed her lips. "Well actually, yes, I am," she said, and watched his face crease in guilt. "But not at you. If I had known what they did... I'm just mad that it wasn't me that killed Stannis." She let her hands slide down and onto his chest, gripping the sides of his leather jerkin. "Do you understand me, Gendry?" She asked. "I do not blame you. It isn't your fault!"

And with that she pulled him down by his lapels, and pressed a kiss to his lips. He seemed surprised at first, before his hands slid up and he placed them gently on her cheeks, letting his lips melt into hers.

* * *

The sky was a pale grey, and snow fell lightly, melting in his hair and cloak, and landing as soft as a sigh on his face. The deck rocked beneath his feet, swaying in the black water below, the surface lapping against the wood. One of the crew raised a shout, and Jon heard the creak of the bow turning. He leaned more heavily against the side, his hands splayed in front of him, and he watched a tiny white snow flake settle on his knuckle and melt there, the droplet running down the slope of his hand and settling at his wrist.

"Jon?"

Jon turned around at the sound of his sister's voice as she stepped up to stand beside him, placing her hand beside his. "You'll freeze out here," he said, glancing at her dress, black with a fancy metal belt. He turned back to watch as White Harbour grew smaller in the distance, wondering when he would next see it again.

Sansa shot him a disdainful glance. "No more than you will," she replied, "I'm just as much a Northerner as you." Jon smiled at her reply; for the perfect lady she was, his sister had become a confident woman, as proud of her heritage as anyone else. Her hand moved to his, and he could feel her looking at him, though he kept his focus on the rocking waves.

"Jon, something has been bothering you for weeks now, and you haven't said a word," She said softly. "Is something wrong?" Jon swallowed and leaned more heavily against the side.

What was he supposed to say? That he had received a letter weeks ago about a group of men that wanted to cause their sister harm, and he hadn't said a word until now? The thought made him wince. The last time he had hidden something from her, Sansa had been furious. He sighed, and lowered his brow, frowning.

"Three weeks ago, I received a letter from Lord Baratheon," he said heavily. The words had immediate effect; Sansa's hand tightened around his, and he felt rather than saw her turn to look at him more fully, waiting for further explanation. He rubbed his jaw, as he thought about what to say.

"She's fine," he said, though she only relaxed a little. "But Elmar Frey was spotted at Cape Kraken. Baratheon scouts saw him row out to meet Euron Greyjoy."

Sansa arched an elegant eyebrow. "But we already knew that, didn't we?" She said skeptically.

Jon nodded once. "A week following that raven we received another, though I neglected to read it for a few days." He waited for her reprimand, but it never came so he carried on. "It was from Gendry again. He hadn't planned on mentioning to it Arya, and he wasn't clear about how he found out, but it seems that Arya and Euron have a history."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked sharply, her voice as biting as the wind that rocked the side of the ship in violent gusts. Jon thought she had inherited that from her lady mother.

"You may not remember, but during the war Euron used to capture and sell slaves in Essos," he said grimly. "He didn't go into details, but it turns out that Arya was one of them. Gendry worries that Euron may have found out since who she was, and that might tie in to his meeting with Elmar Frey. Like some sort of revenge." Jon moved to lean forward onto his forearms, his hands clasped together in the cold air, and turned his face to watch his sister's reaction.

Sansa stood as still as stone, her face carved out of ice, and for a moment Jon thought he could see a similarity between her and Arya in the expression. "And you only tell me this now?" She asked cooley.

Jon glanced down and back up. "I know, and I'm sorry," he said, "but you were so busy with this whole journey, all the organising- I didn't want to worry you further." He regarded her carefully, but her face gave little away as she turned back to watch White Harbour become a grey horizon, one hand braced gently against the side.

"What do you think?" Sansa asked, keeping her voice flat.

Jon hesitated, his head aching. "I don't know," he admitted, "but Gendry's right; it all seems too neat to be a coincidence. Whether Elmar is aware of Arya and Euron's history I don't know, but if this is true then Euron must have some sort of plan. Why else would he agree to meet him?" The question had been plaguing Jon for months now, and he still couldn't understand or think of an explanation that wasn't worrisome. The sooner he got to Kings Landing the better; there were people there that may have a better idea.

Sansa considered his reply for a moment. "You know the more worrying question though, don't you?" She asked flatly.

Jon nodded. "What will Arya do if she finds out?"

Jon just hoped she didn't; his sister was rational, smart, calculating- but she was reckless and driven by revenge, though he supposed she might call it justice. He didn't know much but she just exuded some sort of aura and, unless her guard was down- which it rarely was- her very presence screamed danger. Jon suspected that Arya may have more secrets than he had originally thought, and he didn't know if he wanted to learn them or not.

"Then you know what must be done?" Sansa said, and again, Jon nodded.

"We must send a raven to Gendry" he said sagely, "and hope she doesn't already know too much."

* * *

Smoke rose up from the top of the mound, from the opening at the top, and Arya could see a little flicker as the tip of an orange flame flickered there. She sat on the edge of her furs next the fire, as Gendry made his way back from the pond, having washed off all of the mud. They had taken it in turns to wash, so that there was always someone to watch the charcoal. He sat down beside her on his furs, and rubbed the cold from his hands.

"How long do you think it will be before we reach the Storm Lands?" She asked with a yawn, not sure whether she hoped it would be soon or not.

Gendry considered for a moment. "At this rate I would guess in about a month, maybe more," he sighed, "but I'm hoping to drop a few of the minor lords and ladies off on the road to Kings Landing, so we might be there sooner."

"Who are they all?" Arya asked, wondering why he had ever brought them along in the first place.

Gendry yawned this time. "Minor houses from the Stormlands; House Fell, House Buckler- all families sworn to Storms End." He turned his face, glowing orange in the light of the fire, and Arya felt her stomach leap as it reminded her of how he had looked the night they had first kissed. "Why do you want to know when we'll get there?" He asked skeptically. "Already planning an escape are you?" He didn't give her a chance to reply. "Remember- you promised me a year."

Arya rolled her eyes. "No, I was simply curious. I never did know- who was holding Storms End before you?" She had been wondering about it for a while now; who would just give over a castle?

Gendry hummed for a moment. "A couple of years ago Aegon Targaryen took Storms End with the Golden Company," he said slowly as he tried to sort it out in his mind. "But when the true war began he left to fight with all of his men, and the lands became overrun with bandits and outlaws. They must have heard I was coming though, and left," he explained, "which is my next thing to do."

"What, to find them?" Arya asked, wondering how exactly he planned to do that. He had the men, but if he was busy with running Storms End then how would he have time to hunt them down? Perhaps he would send someone after them, as her father had sent Beric Dondarrion after the Mountain all those years ago.

Gendry must have caught the doubt in her voice and smiled slightly. "I'll leave Storms End in good hands, someone I can trust. Someone I know can run the place. Then I'll take my men and track them."

Arya crumpled her brow. "Who would you leave?" To leave the lands in someone else's hands... Arya tried to remember what her father had done when he left Winterfell.

Gendry smiled again. "Well, I was hoping you would, once we're wed. Like I said, someone I trust."

Arya frowned. "You think I would just stay behind?" She asked, eyes narrowed. "I would be riding out with you to fight, not staying at home like some little wife." Gendry's mouth twitched slightly into a smile, like he was trying not to laugh at something, and Arya pouted slightly before she realised what he meant. "What makes you so sure we'll be wed?" She asked dryly, irritated that he had brought it up again.

Gendry rolled onto his side. "I have made it clear that I intend to marry you," he replied lightly. "Hopefully it won't take a year, but I'll wait if I have to, the gods know I've waited long enough already- whats another year?" He sounded so certain that he would succeed that Arya huffed. Suddenly her stomach growled violently, and she felt a flash of something, but it was gone before she could grasp it.

Gendry shot her an amused look, his eyebrow lifted. "Hungry, are you?" He chuckled. Arya prodded him with her elbow.

"What makes you think you'll win our wager?" She asked, changing the subject back, rolling onto her front and laying her head on her folded arms, and pulling one knee up. It was so strange to hear him talk so confidently; as children he had always been so unsure- hearing him talk like this was just another reminder of how much he had changed.

Gendry rolled onto his back again, getting comfortable before he replied, and Arya waited for his response. "Because a year is more than enough time," he said, and he didn't have to say the words for Arya to understand what he meant, the unspoken "for you to fall in love with me" ringing loudly in the silence. "Besides," he added more softly, "We're already half way there."

The words made Arya's heart jump into her throat and she chewed her lip. Unsure how to respond, Arya rolled over to face away from him and closed her eyes, pretending to go to sleep. She heard Gendry sigh and shift in his furs, and slowly his breathing deepened and she knew he was asleep. She could hear Tom singing in the distance somewhere, and found his silhouette by a fire.

 _What did that mean_? Arya thought. _Halfway there_? He didn't make sense. Arya rolled the words around in her mind over and over again, trying to understand. Perhaps he was referring to the kiss? Or maybe that she wasn't trying to kill him anymore? Arya didn't know, but just before she drifted into an uneasy sleep she thought, _perhaps he's already there, and that is what he meant by half way._

 _The wind blew softly, rustling her thick fur, and she lifted her nose to inhale. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the noises of men, lots of them, and not long ago a pack of her kind had run from the noise. The smell of smoke and horses drifted on the breeze, and she felt her stomach rumble. She was hungry; there was little to hunt around here._

 _Turning around she began to run, her enormous feet striking the earth, her sharp claws digging into the wet ground. She knew these parts, she once had brothers and sisters here, the small ones, but she left them. Besides, they weren't her true brothers and sisters, because they were all dead save one..._

 _Where was he now? She could sense that he was not where she had left him, he had moved. She growled as she saw an orange glow in the distance, figures gathered around it. She sniffed the air, there was food, rabbit. Lowering her head she moved swiftly through the trees, towards the fires. She could see more clearly now, men, lots of men, stretching miles. Were they her brothers old pack?_

 _Slowly she inched her way forwards, padding silently across the ground, stretching out to sniff a man on the ground... he was asleep, and she moved closer, her eyes on the rabbits by the fire... she never risked being near men like this; all animals fled from her, but she fled from men, with their long sharp claws and their hot fires, but she could sense her, somewhere near..._

 _She stretched out her neck, lifting one foot and then she would reach it, when suddenly there was a scream. She froze and then backed away quickly, ears twitching for the source of the sound. People began to stir, wakened by the scream, and she bared her teeth when men began to pick up those dangerous claws..._

Arya jolted upright, sweating and breathing heavily, barely registering the screaming. Subconsciously she was aware of Gendry sitting up beside her, but she was already on her feet and headed to the source of the shouts and the screaming, not even stopping to yank on her boots.

"Arya!" Gendry shouted, but he was too late, Arya was running. She could hear him cursing as he chased after her, grabbing his sword in the process.

"No!" She shouted, as she saw men circling around something, swords raised. "No, leave her!" Suddenly she was jolted to a stop, Gendry's hand like iron around her arm. "No! Get off me, let me go!" She tried to wrench herself from his grasp but he pulled her around.

"Arya what the fuck are you doing?" He bellowed, a dangerous look on his face as she squirmed to get away from him, scratching at his hands. "Arya stop this now!"

"No! Let go, let me- stop!" She screamed towards the shouting men. "Please, stop!"

Gendry shook her, shocked to see pure fear etched into Arya's face. "Arya will you just stop this, what's wrong with yo-"

"Gendry, please," she sobbed. "Stop them, please!" She trembled in his hold, and Gendry was so surprised her let her go. Instantly Arya was running to the mania, where men were shouting and running near the edge of the trees. Arya pushed her way desperately through the crowd, shoving men aside and squeezing through gaps.

"What are you doing here girl?!" A man shouted, grabbing at her arm, and Arya turned around with a snarl on her lips, only to see Gendry grab the man.

"Let her go," he commanded, giving Arya a nod. Arya raced on towards the main source of the noise, and flung herself through the shouting men.

"No!" She screamed. "Stop this- stop it now!" She turned to the huge grey direwolf, snarling and snapping as men lashed out at her with swords. The wolf was snapping and growling, her lips pulled back and hackles raised as she charged at a man that thrust a sword at her, and Arya could see an arrow stuck loosely in the wolfs shoulder.

"Nymeria!" She shouted, running to the angry wolf. "Nymeria its me!" The wolf turned around at the sound of Arya's voice, and Arya felt her shoulders relax a little as the wolf hesitated- but that hesitation was long enough, and the man sliced at the wolf with his sword. In an instant Nymeria span, and lunged for him.

"No!" Arya shouted, reaching for the wolf, and then she collapsed into another world...

* * *

Gendry awoke suddenly to the sound of shouting and screaming, just in time to see Arya bolt up and run towards the source of the noise. His heart jumped and he leaped up, grabbing his sword as he chased after the girl. Was it an attack? Raiders? Gendry cursed as he stumbled after Arya. "Arya!" He shouted, but she ignored him, or didn't hear, he didn't know which, but she gave no indication that she had heard him.

Arya darted through camp fires, shouting with desperation, and he followed clumsily in her wake, furious that she would run to the unknown danger without even grabbing a sword, before stretching his arm out and grabbing her. She struggled away from him, but he held on as she shouted and screamed, and Gendry was shocked to see pure, unadulterated panic and fear on her face as she screamed for him to let go. He almost forgot his anger at her desperation to get away; he had never seen her like this, except once, long ago.

 _The burning sword snapped in two, and the Hounds cold steel plowed into Lord Beric's flesh where his shoulder joined to his neck and drove clean down to the breastbone. The blood came rushing out in a hot black gush._

 _Gendry watched as Beric fell to his knees as if in prayer, and then crumpled to the ground, dead. Thoros sprang forward and knelt over Beric's body, speaking so rapidly that Gendry couldn't make out what he was saying, not over the Hounds screaming as he tried to put out the fire._

 _Suddenly there was a blur of movement, and he saw Arya grab a knife from Greenbeard's belt, running for the Hound, an expression of rage and fury on her face._

 _"Arya, No!" He shouted. Without thinking Gendry ran around the boulder as she leapt over it, and caught her bodily mid jump._

 _"NO!" She screamed, trying to wrestle away from him, the dagger still clutched in her tiny fist. Her hands pummeled his arm uselessly as he hoisted her into the air, ignoring her kicking legs. "NO! LET GO OF ME, LET ME GO!" She screamed, flailing over his shoulder._

 _Gendry had no choice but to wrestle her to the ground, as she beat at him and screamed in anger and frustration, her tiny frame dwarfed by his body._

 _"BURN IN HELL!" She screamed at the Hound, as Gendry wrenched her back down, wondering if he had ever seen anyone as wild as she was in that instant..._

Arya screamed as he pulled her back to him, her small body crashing into his as she panicked. "Arya, what the fuck are you doing?" He bellowed at her, but she barely seemed to hear him. "Arya, stop this, stop this now!" She kicked and squirmed in his grasp, desperately trying to get towards the source of the noise.

"No! Let go, let me- stop!" She screamed towards the shouting men. "Please, stop!"

Gendry shook her, shocked to see pure fear etched into Arya's face. "Arya will you just stop this, what's wrong with yo-"

"Gendry, please," she sobbed. "Stop them, please!" She trembled in his hold, and Gendry was so surprised her let her go. Instantly Arya was running to the mania, where men were shouting and running near the edge of the trees. Gendry chased after her, ready to pull her back out of harms way at a moments notice.

"What are you doing here girl?!" A man shouted, grabbing at her arm, and Arya turned around with a snarl on her lips, but Gendry grasped the mans shoulder.

"Let her go," he commanded, giving Arya a nod. Arya shot him a quick look of something he didn't recognise before shooting off again, squeezing through gaps and out of sight.

There was so much noise and shouting, and Gendry pushed his way forward until he could see what was happening, just in time to see Arya charge at an enormous Dire Wolf.

"Nymeria!" She begged, reaching out to the wolf. "Nymeria, it's me!" The wolf stopped in her attack and for a moment Gendry thought she had stopped, but in the wolfs pause, a man slashed at her with a sword, and then several things happened at once.

The wolf span around again, snapping and snarling at the man, who stumbled back having dropped his sword, her massive jaws aimed straight at his throat. At the same time, Arya screamed "NO!" again, and reached for the wolf, and then perhaps one of the strangest things Gendry had ever seen happened.

Arya seemed to stop in her movement as if she was pulled back by some invisible force, choked off from her scream of desperation, and then collapsed to the ground, where she seemed to convulse. At the exact same time, the dire wolf halted in her movements, stropping her attack.

Everyone burst into panic, before some gathered their senses, making to attack the wolf again, but Gendry had seen this before. "No, put down your swords!" He commanded, his voice bellowing and drowning out everyone else. "I SAID PUT DOWN YOUR SWORDS, NOBODY MOVE!" The men stared at him bewildered, but did as he said, and Gendry was relieved to see that the wolf didn't move from where she seemed to be trapped in daze.

Gendry leaped over to Arya's prone form, lifting her head and shoulders up, and brushed the hair from her pale as snow face, startled to see her eyes had gone completely white, like they had turned back to front. She trembled a couple of times, and then lay still.

"Arya?" He asked, giving her a small shake, ignoring the murmurings behind him, when he saw movement. "Stop, nobody move!" He shouted, holding a hand out towards the man who had attacked Nymeria moments ago. "If you kill the wolf, you kill Arya! Not a single man is to move!" They looked at him with confusion, but backed away from the wolf all the same, who stayed in a dazed state. Gendry turned back to Arya.

"Arya?" He said again, giving her a small shake. He'd seen Jon do this before, once, but it hadn't been quite like this. Gendry began to worry- had Arya done it deliberately? Had something gone wrong? With a new sense of urgency, Gendry shook her again. "Come on, Arya wake up." He watched carefully, and then, so quickly that his heart jumped in his chest, Arya's eyes bolted open and she took in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Shh," he said, rocking her slightly. Her hands shot up and grasped his as her eyes darted around wildly, trying to focus. "It's alright, Arya shh-"

"Nymeria," she gasped, trying to sit up, but Gendry pushed her back down. She shook her head. "No- don't hurt her- please don't hurt her-"

"Arya she's fine," he said gently, giving up on holding her down, and instead gently helping her to sit. She panted and leaned against his chest, breathing quickly and shallowly as her eyes sought out Nymeria. The wolf was still calm but, Gendry could see how she seemed to be coming to again, blinking her black eyes and tensing her shoulders.

"What-" Arya said shakily, "What happened?" She seemed to try to recollect, her grey eyes darting around for the answer. "They were attacking us- her? I had to- but..." she trailed off, and looked at Gendry for answers, and he watched her carefully before answering.

"You're like Jon, aren't you?" He asked hesitantly, sighing when he saw her imperceptible nod. He was about to speak up again, when he heard a low growl and a shift of movement; Nymeria was pulling herself to her full height again, her lips pulled back and haunches raised as she snarled at the men, who backed away, raising their swords again. Gendry felt Arya stiffen in his arms, and realised she was trying to stand again. He held her gently and helped her to her feet, though she protested and made to walk to her wolf.

"Woah-woah, hold it," Gendry said, pulling her back. "What are you doing?" Nymeria snapped, lunging for the man closest to her, and shouts of alarm went back up.

Arya tried to wrench herself free of his grip. "Gendry, please," she said, holding his gaze. "You have to let me go." Her grey eyes, so dark and deep and full of something that Gendry didn't understand held his imploringly, and he loosened his grip.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," he said, gazing into her eyes.

"I promise," she said, desperately. He hesitated and then released her, giving her a single terse nod. Arya breathed in relief and pulled away, running at the enormous grey and tawny wolf.

There were shouts of alarm as the small girl reached out and grasped a handful of the wolfs neck fur and swung herself elegantly onto her back. The wolf shook her enormous head, and tightened her haunches before springing forward and leaping over the heads of the men in front of her, and bounding off into the trees.

Gendry watched as they disappeared, hoping that he had not made a foolish decision.

 **Yay! Nym is back! Haven't written her for aaaages, I thought I ought to bring her back at some point... so here she is! Or there she was, seeing as she has disappeared with Arya... that's trouble. Poor Gendry- poor boy never knows what is going on. So that's another update, I hope you all liked it, any questions- let me know! Over and Out xox**

 **NOTE: Oh, I almost forgot- a couple of people have been asking about why Gendry and Arya seem somewhat disjointed and stuff- this will sound so pretentious, but I'm trying to capture the idea that although Jon and Gendry are the good guys and everything, they are still a product of their society, and as such (despite being the good guys) still have those antiquated views. I'm not saying don't be mad at them for being like that- be mad! Arya is!- but they are just a product of society and all of that tosh!**


	25. Running with Wolves

**DISCLAIMER: Still be here, ownin' nun. Rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Ayo people, hope you liked the last update, that was a fun chapter to write. Has anyone here ever burned charcoal? I used to do it with my brothers, its kinda fun. Anyhoo, I haven't got much to say, but I do have a question: how is everyone feeling about S8 E3 when Arya kills the Night King? Sorry if that was a spoiler for everyone, but it was aaages ago now. Personally, I LOVE it, I think it's really cool and well set up, but I'm guessing there are people who didn't like it.**

 **So the last chapter rose a couple of questions, which I'll just quickly answer:**

 **1) Arya lost her cool majorly when Nymeria was being attacked, which was extremely weird, as Arya rarely loses her chill in that way- unless she's angry- and the reason she did was because she was still kind of connected to Nymeria- she went crazy because she was feeling the wolfs emotions on top of her own.**

 **2) The thing about Arya being hungry- yes, that was because she was sensing Nym's hunger unknowingly.**

 **3) Yes, Nymeria has been the one that has been kinda spooking up the horses- like when Arya and Gendry were fighting and Arya got distracted by the horses freaking out. I'm glad you all caught it :)**

 **Of course, any other questions let me know, feel free to drop a review, other than that... over and out xoxo**

Warm wind whipped Arya's face as the wolf flew through the tall trees, bending and curving around trees, leaping over streams. Arya wrapped her hands in Nymeria's thick grey fur and bent low over her neck, her hair whipping out behind her like a banner. In the distance she could still hear the commotion of camp, but she didn't look back.

Nymeria's gigantic feet pounded the earth mercilessly, her great muscles contracting and springing powerfully as she ran. Arya had missed this, her connection to the wolf. She couldn't understand what had happened. She had had one of her wolf dreams, something that hadn't happened for a long while, and it worried her.

In the long years that she had been apart from Nymeria Arya had been having the dreams; at the time she had not understood them, but when they had reunited and gone beyond the Wall Arya had learned from the Free Folk that she was a Warg. That her connection to Nymeria allowed her to flit in and out of the wolfs conscience. Nymeria wasn't the only animal that Arya could Warg into; in Braavos she had been able to do the same with the cats, though she never knew how she did it, or why- she just did.

Upon her and Nymeria reuniting, Arya found that her wolf dreams stopped, so why was she having them again now? Arya shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. That fear she had felt when she woke... had that been hers, or Nymeria's? She hadn't felt such uncontrollable fear in so long, it couldn't have been hers. But then, why had she phased into Nymeria like that? Arya tried to remember if she had ever phased like that before, but she couldn't.

It had been so strange... Arya didn't know if she had warged into Nymeria deliberately or not. All she had wanted was to stop anyone from hurting the wolf, perhaps she had done it without thinking? Yes, that had to be it; she had woken from her dream, still half phased into Nymeria- that was why it had been so confusing. She had been both herself and Nymeria. Arya wondered if that had ever happened to Jon; she would have to ask the next time she saw him.

Arya didn't know how long she had been running with Nymeria when the wolf began to slow breathing heavily. A group of deer ran past, but the she wolf payed them no mind. Arya slid off of Nymeria's back, her bare feet landing silently on the forest floor. She padded around to the wolfs face, and leant her forehead against Nymeria's own much larger one.

What was happening to her? Arya didn't understand, and it frightened her. All those years, she had been alone, with no one there but her grief, but now... feelings inside of her that she had long ago forsaken were reawakening, and Arya didn't understand them. Ever since Gendry had kissed her, and she had kissed him back, Arya had been confused.

Arya didn't want marriage and love, or any of those things, so why was it that when Gendry had kissed her, she had allowed it- and worse, kissed him back? Arya had dismissed it as done in the heat of the moment, but now she wasn't so sure. She had come to realise that she enjoyed Gendry's company, and when they had been ignoring each other, despite being angry at him, she had missed him as well.

This was NOT part of the plan.

Arya wasn't stupid; she knew that an innocent kiss or two didn't equate to love, and neither did not despising his presence, but it felt wrong. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell, the wild wolf girl of the North, trained assassin and defender of the Free Folk. She wasn't supposed to... to... to what? Arya chewed her lip and tightened her grip on Nymeria's fur. Wasn't supposed to have feelings? That seemed absurd. Everyone had feelings, and if Arya had learned one thing over the years it was that no matter who someone was, they had feelings just like the next person, criminals, lords and peasants alike.

It was just that Arya hadn't experienced any of the good ones for a long time.

Was that why she was so confused? She wondered. _After everything that has happened to me, what if something has gone wrong inside of me? All of the things I've seen, all of the things I've done..._ was that why happiness felt so foreign to her? Like she couldn't trust it? Like anything good was just some trick? Arya considered it.

When she had trained in the House of Black and White, Arya had tried to destroy every part of her that made her human. Maybe she had destroyed more than she had realised. She wondered what Gendry would ever say if he found out. His reaction to her killing the attacker, and calling it mercy- he had been disapproving, and Arya recognised that part of her was the faceless assassin. What the guild had tried to brainwash her with- death is a gift. What had the Hound taught her, even before Braavos? Death was mercy. Even before then her father had always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, that death to people who deserved it was duty.

But Gendry had been so disapproving of it. _Gods know why_ , Arya thought, _he grew up the same as I did._ But then, she supposed, that wasn't entirely true. Actually, now she thought about it, she knew very little about his life after the Hound took her. He had worked for Jon towards the end of the war, and travelled North, but that was almost all that she really knew. Well that, and that he had been with the Red Woman. Just like that, jealousy flared through Arya's stomach, spreading through her whole body. It hit her suddenly, but before she could muddle it through, Nymeria jerked her head up, ears twitching.

Arya made to put her hand on her sword, but her hand fell through empty air. She cursed; she hadn't brought it. Nymeria pulled back a lip and started growling, teeth bared.

Arya chewed her lip; how far was she from camp? She didn't know how long Nymeria had been running, but it was a long while. Arya looked to the sky to see where the moon was, but the tree canopy was dense and she could only see glimpses of inky sky. It was as dark now as it had been when she left- or was it? Arya had no idea. The camp had been near some village by Raventree Hall, just off the Kings Road, and she had ridden Nymeria westwards from there. That told her little though, she could be anywhere between the Kings Road and Riverrun, and that was only if Nymeria had gone in a straight line, which Arya strongly suspected she hadn't.

Arya could try riding back to camp, but that could mean accidentally running into whatever was making Nymeria tense- but staying where she was was too dangerous. Arya trained her eyes on where Nymeria was looking, but she couldn't see anything... Nymeria lowered her head and snarled again.

Arya closed her eyes and inhaled, pushing her conscience into Nymeria. Suddenly she could feel the earth under four large paws, and the light breeze ruffling her fur. She twitched her ears, and... there. Ahead of them, faint voices, horses swishing their tails. She lifted her black nose and inhaled the air; humans. She strained harder to hear, to listen. The voices were growing louder- they were moving towards them.

Arya pulled herself viciously from Nymeria's conscience, with a gasp. There couldn't have been more than ten, but with no weapon the odds were unfeasible. Arya struggled to think who could be out at night, west of the Kings Road; perhaps patrolmen from Riverrun? It didn't seem likely. Clansmen? A shiver ran down her back. Clansmen were dangerous- vicious and unrestrained they were almost wildling-like, but less civilized. She did not want to be caught alone and weaponless by them. But what if it wasn't clansmen? Arya felt her curiosity peak- she knew the sensible thing was to jump on Nymeria's back and ride out of there, back to camp, wherever it was, but who were these men?

Her stomach plummeted.

The men she had seen at the Crossroads Inn. When she had been an owl. Who were they?

Perhaps... she doubted it, but what if they were ironmen spies? Supporters of the Frey boy? They could be tailing the company; Gendry had sent most of his scouts northward, the east would be easier to follow undetected. Arya swung herself onto Nymeria's back. She had to find out who they were; besides, Nymeria could go as fast as any horse, and if there was any kind of altercation she would be able to keep her own. Arya urged her to trot silently towards the noise, growing close enough now that she could hear their voices in the wind, though not what they were saying.

The slope was steep, and Arya rode Nymeria around to the side so that she might come up behind the group, where she would hopefully be more likely to go undetected, as the wind was blowing eastwards and the horses would spook if they caught Nymeria's scent coming straight towards them.

It took some time before Arya was certain they had passed them far enough to turn around and come up behind them, but eventually Arya could see the orange glow of a single fire; they had stopped to make camp. She silently slid off Nymeria and walked closer, her bare feet making no noise on the ground. She crouched low as she came up to a shrub, peering through to see the camp.

They were only twenty feet away from her, and she could see them clearly enough; six men, dressed in leather and wool. Northerners then, she thought. Southroners wore lighter fabrics. Two had their backs to her, so she couldn't see their faces, but one had black hair pulled back by a leather thong, and the other was bald, his head gleaming in the light of the fire. One man sat, emptying his boots, and Arya could see a long thin scar across his left cheek. One stood up and tossed another log carelessly onto the fire, causing it to gutter out and then relight itself. The other two looked younger, one as beardless and smooth cheeked as a green boy, and the other with a smattering of spots across his forehead. Arya leaned in to hear what they had to say.

"The others were supposed to be here weeks ago," the bald one said, his voice deep. "That's all I'm saying."

The one with his boot in his hands huffed. "Look, they likely just got held up or summat' there ain't no cause to panic," he snipped, clearly more concerned with cleaning his boot. "They're probably on their way to us now, Lord Frey said they would only be there a couple of nights."

Arya breathed in sharply. Lord Frey? Was that Elmar? So they were supporters of Elmar... where had they been staying? Arya didn't understand, Elmar was supposed to have been at Cape Kraken, last she knew, what sense did it make to send men out to the west of the company? True, there were fewer scouts waiting to report, but they were so far out west that they couldn't be spying on the host.

"They left Cape of Eagles almost a full moons turn ago, and its a weeks riding from there to the Twins," the bald man insisted. "They should have got here at least a week ago, I'm tellin' you, summat's gone wrong." He waggled a finger at the one with the boots. Arya narrowed her eyes; the Twins? Were her attackers a part of this group? If they had been iron men... but that didn't fit. The one she had questioned said they had been paid; if they were loyal to Frey then why would he pay them, and why would the man not have known anything? It didn't make any sense. He said some boy had told them to wait there... but what if he had been lying? He had nothing left to lose, he must have known he was going to die. But he had been begging... Arya shook her head, confused.

The green boy was talking but Arya couldn't hear, so she pressed closer, leaning towards them a little. "Maybe," he said, wiggling what looked to Arya like a hat, "maybe they ditched. They weren't one o' us, they could'a taken the gold and legged it, wi'out doing the job."

The man with his hair in a leather thong leaned forwards. "It's possible, I suppose, but all they had to do was wait there and see if she turned up; if they got her, they were to take her to Cape o' Eagles, but we know they ain't done that."

"How?" Asked the green boy, wiggling his finger about in his ear.

"Because we're bloody well followin' them, ent we?" Snapped the thong man. "So if they ent got her, she either never turned up to the Twins like his lordship said, or they couldn't capture her, in which case they should be on their way to us." Arya crept forwards just a little, straining to hear every word he said and wincing as she knelt on a sharp rock. "There ent no point in thinking about it too hard, either they turn up or they don't. We ent got no power over tha'." He stood up abruptly and stretched. "I'm gonna go take a piss." He stepped past the boot man and strode off into the dark.

"Whether he's got the right of it or not," the bald one said again, "we cannea be sure everything 'as gone to plan, asides, you know what he's like, he-"

Suddenly there was a crack of a twig behind her, and Arya span around, reaching for her sword, only to remember she didn't have it. The man with his hair in a thong reached forward and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her close. Arya hissed and made to pull away, but he swung his fist into her temple, and she fell to the ground as her vision went spotty.

"I knew I heard something," he said, grabbing a fist full of her hair and towing her towards the others. "Aye, it looks like we 'ave a little rat," he shouted, grabbing their attention. The men stood up as he threw her to the ground. Arya pushed herself back up but his hand was in her hair again and he wrenched her up. Arya hissed and her hands flew to his, trying to relieve the pressure there.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_! She should have just gone back to camp when Nymeria first heard them. _Nymeria_! But where was she? If she could just-

"I said, who are you?!" The man shouted, giving her hair a sharp yank. "Tell me, or I'll slit your throat!" He yanked a knife out of his belt and pressed it against her bare throat, the steel cold on her skin. When Arya didn't answer he pressed it closer and when she felt a sharp sting she knew he had cut her. She felt a single drop of blood run down to her shirt.

"Whether I tell you or not you'll still slit my throat!" She hissed, scratching at his hand. He pressed the knife closer and she felt another drop of blood bead there. "I'm just a camp follower!" She spat out, thinking quickly. "I'm from the Palisade Village, that's all!" The knife relaxed a little and she breathed out in relief.

"A camp follower?" He asked, clearly not convinced. "If you're a camp follower, then what are you doing here? Someone sent you to spy on us?!" He yanked her hair sharply.

"No!" She said, making her voice sound more like a girl from the Vale. "I was looking for my lover, truly! He came out this way and bid me follow him, please believe me!" She let a tear slide down her cheek and dry sobbed.

He hesitated and pulled her by her hair, and Arya tried to feel Nymeria's conscience. If she could just phase into her to come closer... he jerked her head back. "For a Palisade Villager, you look awful like a Northerner to me," he snapped, peering down at her. "In fact, you look awful like a girl we're looking for..." Arya saw something dawn in his expression and knew she had to do something.

She jerked her head back sharply into his gut and he groaned, loosening his hold on her hair just enough for Arya to spin around, stretching out one leg. She swung it around and kicked his legs out from underneath him. With a grunt he fell over onto his back, and Arya wasted no time in grabbing his knife. She darted forward and slit his throat quickly. He gurgled and coughed up blood, as it gushed out, hot and black.

Arya jumped up and span away just in time to avoid the bald man's sword. Thinking quickly, Arya hurled the knife at his chest, where it stuck deep. He cursed and fell to his knees, dropping the sword. Arya grabbed it and stuck it through his throat, before bringing it up to stop the green boys blade. She bent over backwards as he took a swing at her, and as she came back up sliced at the spotted boys stomach, he screamed in pain and stumbled back, but Arya ignored him. She twisted the sword and disarmed the green boy with ease.

She grabbed him and pulled him in front of her, placing the blade at his throat. "Take another step and he dies!" She hissed, as the other two men approached. They paused, and Arya felt Nymeria's presence. She hissed. "I'm going to back away now, and you'll stay here unless you want me to kill him," she said savagely, pricking his throat to make her point. "Now, you can go back to your master, and tell him that winter is coming for him next!" When neither man made to follow her, Arya walked backwards through the trees.

The man in her arms whimpered, but Arya ignored him and the stench coming from his trousers, focusing on feeling Nymeria's presence. She could feel her now, not too far away... then the two men were back, clearly having decided she was more important than their fellow man. She cursed, and dragged him back faster, feeling desperately for Nymeria; if she wasn't there in moments, Arya would find herself fighting the others. The blow to her head had left her dizzy, and she didn't fancy her odds if she carried on. The three others grew closer, shouting curses at her, but she could feel Nymeria now, only yards away.

With a shout, Arya cut the boys throat, ignoring how his blood drenched her shirt, hot and thick. Almost there... she growled as she shoved his body away from her, and turned, running towards where she knew Nymeria would be. She heard footsteps behind her, but she could see her wolf now, five yards, four. Something whistled through the air and Arya ducked just in time for a knife to sail through the air where her ear had been seconds prior.

She reached out, straining, and grabbed Nymeria's fur, pulling herself up, the wolf never breaking in her stride. Arya's hand screamed in protest as she clung on, but Arya sighed in relief; by the time they tacked their horses, she would be long gone. Nymeria picked her way down the slope, twisting and turning through the trees, and Arya just hoped the wolf knew where to go, too exhausted to try and phase into her.

The men had been either Frey supporters or Iron men, but whoever they were they were her enemies, and Gendry's. The sooner she got back to camp the better, he had to know that they were being tailed on the east side. Arya's mind buzzed as she tried to recall everything that they had said. Who was going to meet them- someone from the Twins. They had to have been the group that attacked her, late because Arya and Gendry had killed them; she had known, just known, that they weren't just outlaws! It was too random, too coincidental for it to be outlaws, why hadn't she seen it? Arya cursed herself to hell and back for her stupidity- it mattered little that they were being tailed- everyone knew that they were headed for Storms End, but what if there had been some facet of information they picked up on?

Arya yelled in frustration- if only she had been able to hear more! There wasn't enough information to make any sort of guess at why they were there, or who had really been at the Twins, but it was enough to tell her that Euron and Elmar were planning something- she just didn't know what.

Oh, she was so stupid! She should have never followed them in the first place. She had left two, possibly three alive to go and tell whoever that she knew about them tailing the company. If they hadn't guessed who she was when they caught her, they would have to be truly stupid to not put it together after she jumped on the back of a giant wolf.

Arya held on tight as they ran through the dark, down the slope and out of the forest, to where the trees became more widely spaced and the ground more lush. She could hear the commotion of camp and urged Nymeria on across the expansive grassland. The darkness of night was waning, the sky still dark, but dawn was breaking. They came back into the woods where she had first run off into, and burst back into camp. Shouts of panic broke out as Arya rode the enormous Direwolf through the camp, but Arya ignored them, searching desperately for him. She had to tell him, as soon as possible what she had seen.

Then there he was, striding towards her, relief written across his face. Arya swung off of Nymeria and made to greet him, but Gendry had other ideas. Without stopping to break stride, Gendry reached out and took her face in his hands, lifting it up aggressively as his mouth crashed down on hers. Arya stumbled back from the shock, but he was a rock. Arya brought her hands up to his chest to steady herself, still dizzy from the blow to her temple earlier, but reeling from Gendry's desperate kiss.

He was forceful and kissed her with a desperation that stunned her, his hands hot on her face as he towered over her. Arya felt her eyes grow wide. His lips were hot and insistent, moving roughly against hers. His kiss was angry, rough, but his mouth was hot and soft, molding to Arya's in a way that was beginning to feel almost familiar, but completely strange. Arya gasped sharply, and pushed his chest, but if he felt it he gave no sign of it, and Arya shoved him again, harder this time.

He pulled back, half an inch, leaning his forehead against hers, and staring her in the eyes. "Don't you ever do that again," he said hoarsely, his hands still holding her face.

"Gendry," Arya said, trying to move away, "I'm fine, I promise, but its important-"

Gendry bent back down and kissed her again, taking her breath away. Arya nearly kissed him back, but pulled away with a gasp. "Gendry- not now- just listen to me!" She yanked her face out of his hands, her own clutching his forearms desperately. He stared down at her, watching her intently. "Gendry, you have to listen to me," she said breathlessly, but Gendry seemed to only just have noticed the blood all over her.

Gendry pulled away immediately, his eyes running up and down her body, first in fear, then in anger. He took her chin and lifted her face up to better look at her throat, where she knew there was a thin cut from the mans blade. "Arya, your throat-"

Arya clutched his arms tighter. "Gendry, please just listen to me!" He stopped fussing and Arya took the opportunity to speak, her words coming out quickly. "I saw a group of men, and I went to investigate who they were- they were Frey men, I think, maybe Iron men, I still don't know, but-"

Gendry grasped her shoulders and yanked her closer, his expression one of absolute fury. "You saw a group of strange men, and you followed them?" He shouted incredulously, shaking her. "Arya, are you completely stupid?" He shook her again, but Arya just shook her head.

"No, Gendry just listen-" she pleaded, but he was too far gone.

"I keep telling you, over and over," he said loudly, his jaw clenched as he stared down at her in pure anger, "but you just don't listen! What were you thinking?!"

Arya tried to wrench herself from his grasp, but he held on tighter. "I was thinking that I could find something out!" She snapped, irritated that he just couldn't see. "Will you just listen-"

"No, you just listen!" He roared, beyond furious. "I trusted you! I let you go because I trusted you, just once, to not do something stupid! And what do you do?!" He shook her again, before taking her by one arm and dragging her past the men, who Arya had only just remembered to be watching. Gendry steered her through the camp, the men watching from the side lines as he towed her past.

His grip on her arm was becoming painful, and Arya squirmed, but he just yanked her closer, ignoring Arya's protesting. When they reached the edge of camp, where they had been sleeping earlier in the night, Gendry finally stopped, swinging her around in front of him. His blue eyes held unspeakable fury at her actions and his nostrils flared as exhaled sharply. "Talk," he said roughly.

Arya wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I know you're angry but just listen," she said, as calmly as she could. "Nymeria heard them, so I warged into her to see what she had heard. I took her up past them, and came up behind them to find out who they were. I still don't know exactly who they were, but it was clear they were following us- I'd seen a couple of them before, the night you found me in the woods at the Inn" she explained, the words spilling out of her mouth.

Gendry narrowed his eyes. "You saw them before and didn't say anything?" He hissed.

"Gendry!" She snapped, shaking him. "Pay attention! They mentioned Elmar Frey, and some people who were payed to go to the Twins to wait for me there. Apparently they were supposed to meet this group, but they never arrived- so they have to have been the men we killed, don't you see?" She stared up at him, but his face appeared to be carved from stone. "I think they must all be working under Elmar, and Elmar is working under Euron- they said something about the other group trying to either take a girl to Cape of Eagles or meeting up with them if they failed, and they said it was supposed the have been around the time we were there. It just proves that-"

"It proves nothing!" Gendry snapped, his fists clenched at his sides. Arya blinked, and opened her mouth to protest, but Gendry cut across her. "Do you really think I didn't know they were tailing us?" Arya felt her brow crease.

"What do you mean, you knew?" She asked, her eyes narrowing. "You knew, and you never told me?" He averted his eyes, and Arya felt a blush of anger cross her face. "Why did you keep it a secret- what, you thought I couldn't handle it or something?" She snapped, fuming that he was doing it again, treating her like a child!

"Of course I fucking knew!" Gendry exploded. "I've had scouts out since we left Winterfell, even more after the Twins! I wanted them to follow us, wanted to give Euron the impression that we knew nothing about him! All this proves is that I still can not trust you!" His hand shot out to her throat and Arya thought for a split second that he was going to strangle her, but his fingers instead ran gently over the cut there. "Look at yourself, Arya. How did this even happen?"

Arya held her breath and closed her eyes. "Look, its really nothing, there was just a little altercation, that's all-"

Gendry blinked. "You fought them?" He asked, disbelievingly. "Even after you knew who they were, you went in there and fought them?" He grabbed hold of her arms again, pulling her close and searching her over again. When he saw the blood drenching the black shirt she was wearing, he grabbed it, balling it up in his fist to pull her closer, while he snarled down at her. "You had better start explaining, Arya, and I want the truth this time!"

Arya swallowed. "It was nothing, one of them found me and there was a fight. It's not my blood, but I had to kill a couple of them before I escaped, you see, I'm-"

"I do see," Gendry snapped. "I see that you clearly can not be trusted to make rational decisions. I told you not to go sneaking off again, not to do anything rash, but you directly disobeyed me!" He lifted her chin again and looked at the cut. "How did you even get that, they must have had a blade to your throat for that kind of wound?" Arya hesitated a second too long and Gendry saw the truth in her eyes. He cursed and pulled away, turning around.

"We're supposed to be partners, Arya!" He snapped. "But how can we be partners when I can't trust you?"

Arya stepped closer. "You can trust me," she said, but he flew around, and rounded on her.

"You just proved that I can't!" He bellowed, and Arya saw that he was beyond reasoning. "You promised me- no more lying. But more than that, you promised, before you went, that you wouldn't do anything stupid! And what did you do? You followed after a group of strangers, and nearly got yourself killed, just to get information that I already had!" He breathed out heavily, his gaze just daring her to argue. She dared.

"Well what about you?" She spat, stepping closer to him. "I wouldn't have done it if you had trusted me with the information in the first place! Why can't you just believe me, that I can take care of myself?" She clenched her jaw tightly, her fists shaking with anger at her sides.

"I know that you can!" Gendry shouted back, his voice booming. "But I do not want to ever- ever- see you get hurt because I wasn't careful enough! Because I lost you once, and I won't lose you again!" He breathed out shakily, and Arya felt her eyes widen in surprise. In a calmer voice, Gendry then spoke again. "Arya, don't you see how much you mean to me?"

Arya swallowed, and her eyes widened. How could she possibly respond to that? He had just made it clear that he did not trust her, but then he said that? Arya looked down and then back up, at the anguish on his face. That face... how had it come to mean so much to her in just a matter of months? She was supposed to despise him, but she just couldn't.

Hesitantly, Arya placed her hand on his chest. Her touch surprised him, and Arya decided that was to be expected; how often did she voluntarily touch people? "Gendry, I understand- but I'm not a little girl who needs protecting," she tried to explain calmly. "I know that what I did today was foolish and hot headed and dangerous, but I made the decision to carry it through because I thought it was worth the risk. I made that decision, and you don't have to like it... but can't you accept it?" She watched his face carefully, noting the way his pupils expanded and his lips parted just slightly as he exhaled.

"Arya... how can I just accept you putting yourself in danger? Because I can't," he said hoarsely.

"Then can you accept that that's who I am?" Arya asked, half pleading. "That I'm never going to just be content to sit back and let you look after me?" Gendry covered her hand with his own and sighed

"I can accept that," he agreed, and Arya relaxed... but then his face hardened again, his lips pressed together and jaw clenched. "But I refuse to allow you to put yourself in danger again. From now on, you will stay with me at all times," he said sternly, slightly tightening his hold on her hand. "And if you even dare to sneak off again, I'll have you watched around the clock. Do you understand?" Arya felt her stomach sink. Why was it that every time they kissed, something happened to increase his possessiveness of her?

Arya bit her lip. "I won't sneak off, but only if you don't hide things from me," She said warily, having no intention to not sneak off if the occasion called.

Gendry heaved a sigh of relief, the tenseness in his shoulders visibly dissipating. "We seem to be making a lot of deals lately, milady," he said, taking her hand and allowing a small smile to dance across his mouth briefly.

Arya swallowed. _Yes, and all of them are lies_. "We do, milord, and here's another: If you call me milady again, I'll stab you while you're sleeping," she said sweetly, smiling up at him through the harsh words.

Gendry grinned, huffing out a laugh. "Deal," he agreed, before his face turned serious again. "Now, I'd like to try that kiss again, without the audience." His voice was deeper, though with a slight jesting tone to it. Arya felt her breath hitch as he took her face in his hands again, and slowly lowered his lips to hers.

As he did so, Arya saw something out of the corner of her eye and wrenched back with a gasp. Gendry tensed immediately. "What is it?" He asked, his hand flying to his sword. Arya narrowed her eyes and pushed his chest.

"You ass!" She said. "You let the charcoal stop burning?" The mound was cold behind her, not orange glow or smoke from the top, the air channels dark.

Gendry's eyes widened with disbelief at her. "Really?" He said, shaking her slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips. "That's what you're worried about?" She huffed, and Gendry shook his head before smiling, and pressing his lips to hers again.

 **Alright, I hope you liked it... yes? No? Hated it? Aggh I was so conflicted about this chapter! I hope it was acceptable lol. Any questions, feel free to ask! Over and Out xox**


	26. Outside Opinions

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own :)**

 **Good morning ladies and gentlemen, hope you're all having a fabulous week! So the last EVER episode of Game of Thrones comes out tomorrow, and I'm hyped as shit, literally hopping in my boots. In England it comes on at 2 am though, and I have my physics GCSE exam that day, so I can't stay up :( I'll just be sat in the exam hall trying to remember the conservation of momentum or some crap, trying not to think about GoT... on that note, what does everyone think of the new season? I know a lot of people really seem to hate it- isn't there some poll to have it remade? - but I don't think it's that bad. I reckon that they tried to squeeze too much into not enough time, but other than that... I don't have many problems with it. I do think Jon has been kind of side lined though... oh well, we'll just have to wait and see! As always, drop a review and let me know your thoughts, or feel free to pm me any questions! That's all from me, Over and Out xoxox**

Kisses were strange things, Arya thought. When she was very small she used to wrinkle up her nose at the idea of it. Bran and Rickon used to pull faces too, but Sansa would just sigh and say she was far too young to understand- even though she was only three years older. Robb had laughed and said that when she was older ALL the boys would want to kiss her, and then he would have to chase them all away from his baby sister. He had tickled her then, and Arya had squealed with childish gails of laughter. It was only later that evening that Arya had gone to Jon with her fears that no one would ever want to kiss her because she was ugly. He had smiled at her sadly and mussed her hair.

"Everyone says you look just like Aunt Lyanna did when she was your age," he told her.

"But Aunt Lyanna was beautiful," Arya had replied, confused. Even her dead aunts statue was beautiful.

"Aye, and so are you," he said, pulling her into his lap. "Besides, you're a wolf, little sister. Does a wolf need kisses?"

When she was older, Arya decided that kisses were treacherous. Dangerous. Her father had been murdered because Cersei and Jaime Lannister liked to kiss. Oft times she had seen men kiss women when the woman did not want to be kissed- a whore would kiss a man and show him love, but she would still take his gold afterwards. Kisses... they were just trouble, and Arya seemed to get into plenty enough of it without kisses to add.

No, long ago Arya had decided she didn't want kisses nor did she need them... but Gendry's kisses were different. Always innocent, and never followed by anything other than a smile and a sigh, but kisses they were, and Arya decided she liked them. Liked the warm feeling that spread from her chest to her finger tips, and the gentle weight that settled deep into her stomach.

But more than that, she decided, as she watched Gendry mount his stallion, she just liked Gendry. Arya wasn't an idiot; she didn't think she loved him, a kiss did not equate to love... but she did care for him. She liked the way he smirked at her when he caught her watching, and she liked the way he didn't speak to her as if she were inferior. He talked with her like she was still 'Arry the orphan boy and he was still a bastard from Flea Bottom. He was still bullheaded, that was true; she knew he always kept an eye on her, and when he couldn't he had Anguy or Lem or Greenbeard accompany her- though Anguy was the only one that didn't pretend Gendry hadn't sent him.

She knew that Gendry struggled with letting her leave on her own, but as much as it irritated her, she was beginning to understand why. It was Anguy that had pointed it out to her, when they were out hunting in the woods near Harrenhal. "That's just how men are little lady," he said with a shrug, his finger plucking idly at the string on his bow.

"Then men are stupid," Arya had shrugged, tossing her knife.

He had laughed at that. "Aye, you may just have the right of that, but if you do then Gendry is no exception. And can you blame him, really?" He had shaken his head at her confused expression. "You truly have no clue, do you? If you were guarding that sister of yours, and you had sworn to keep her safe, would you just want to let her go off on her own, knowing full well there were people out for her?" Arya had protested, but he just waved his hands. "He knows that you can look after yourself, and that's what bloody worries him. Admit it, girl, you have done some pretty daft things on the grounds that you know you can look after yourself. You lack any and all caution that others possess." He had looked at her pointedly then. "If you didn't have the skills you do, would your decision to follow the spies have been the same? Or to go to the Twins? You can hardly blame the man for worrying when you're the one that gives him just cause to."

Arya supposed he wasn't wrong; she had managed to get into a few... skirmishes. But Gendry truly was stupid if he thought he could just set her to being watched and her not know anything about it. The Brotherhood weren't terribly subtle, after all. She had accused Greenbeard once, that Gendry had sent him, and he hadn't so much as bothered denying it. "Did he?" He asked, pulling at his beard that was more grey than green these days.

The Baratheon Company had made it so far as Brindlewood, travelling at a faster pace now that the ground wasn't so marshy. While Arya was glad to be out of the heavy moist air of the Riverlands, the further south they travelled the hotter it became, and Arya found that her skin began to go bright pink in the sun. Gendry laughed when he first caught her rubbing at her arms. "Once your skin gets a tan you'll be fine," he promised, but Arya scowled. He hadn't found it so amusing when he was freezing his balls off in the North. If her skin was already protesting to the heat at the top of the Crownlands, Arya dreaded to think the colour she would go in the Stormlands.

* * *

As was true to his name, Jon Snow hated the heat. Cloying and heavy it seemed to stick to his lungs long after he had exhaled, and his furs and leathers were almost as badly suited to the South as he was. He ripped his cloak off with irritation, yanking at the strings at his throat. Kings Landing was as foul and as hot as the last time he had seen it, though thankfully he would not be subjected to the curious stares of the common people as he made his way to the Red Keep this time; having travelled by ship, the small company was to go straight up to the castle, instead of riding through the cramped and smelling streets of the city.

He looked back over his shoulder as Sansa climbed out of the little rowing boat, her heavy dress dragging through the sand. Jon was grateful in that moment that at least he did not have to wear that gown in place of his leathers. In their youth his sister had dreamed of wearing the beautiful gowns in Kings Landing, but now she was a strong woman, confident in northern styles. It seemed he would not be the only one that would have to adapt.

He smiled as she made her way to him on clumsy legs. Her expression was guarded and still, but he could see the ridged set of her jaw and the way her perfect blue eyes drifted up to the walls of the Red Keep atop the cliff. She hadn't been back in Kings Landing since she was a girl, he remembered, and it didn't hold many fond memories for her. Sometimes Jon forgot the things his sister had seen; for her, Kings Landing held her fathers murder, Joffrey's torment and cruelty, being the Lannister's hostage.

"When I escaped from Joffrey's wedding I climbed those steps," she said in a cold voice, as if she were detached from the memory. "It was dark, and I couldn't see, but Ser Dontos helped me." She paused, and then began to make her way forwards. Jon followed after her, nodding at the guards that had been sent to escort them.

"Well, it isn't dark this time, and even if your Ser Dontos isn't here, I won't let you fall," Jon offered, trying to be reassuring, but to his surprise Sansa chuckled.

"Jon, I made my way up and down from the Eyrie on the back of a mule and then in a fruit basket," she said lightly. "This shouldn't be so difficult." Jon smiled, and followed his sister up the steps. He sometimes forgot that Arya wasn't his only little sister; Sansa seemed so much older than her age, and sometimes it tugged at his chest.

Thinking of Arya made Jon sigh heavily. They couldn't be far from Kings Landing now, perhaps a weeks ride, and the thought of seeing his youngest sister again gnawed at his mind. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, and he had no idea what her reaction to seeing him again would be. For all she knew, Jon had sent her away to form an alliance- well, he had, but it hadn't been his main prerogative. He just wanted her to be safe, and Gendry could do that. Arya was like wildfire sometimes, violent and unpredictable, and Jon couldn't think of many men who would be able to withstand her, but if anyone could it was Gendry. The man was half a giant, Jon was certain; standing at near eight foot with a frame that would put a bull to shame, and while Jon didn't doubt that Arya had far superior skill to Gendry in terms of sword skill, Lord Baratheon was enough of a challenge that Arya may just find herself stumped.

The staircase was long and rough, and Jon could hear the men behind panting as they neared the top of the rough hewn stone steps. Sansa slowed as they reached the top, and once or twice Jon thought she would fall, but she pulled through and soon enough they found themselves at the top. As Jon made the final step he touched Sansa's shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

The walls of the Red Keep were something fierce, near thirty foot thick in places, and stretching upwards into the clear blue sky. The company of Jon's northern guards and the odd assortment of Dothraki, Unsullied and Gold Cloaks that made up the City Guard, passed under the walls and into the keep.

Jon had only been in the Red Keep once before, and only briefly, but still he found himself surprised by its beauty. Red and white marble pillars held aloft ceilings, the edges of which decorated with stone carvings of flowers and animals. The floors alternated between marble and white stone, and golden candle holders adorned the stretching walls. The courtyards grew flowers that Jon had never seen before, statues of old kings and queens, fountains of sparkling water. It became clear to him once again why it was every young maids dream to live here.

 _Well,_ he thought _, not all young girls. Arya certainly didn't._

The odd assortment of guards led them through the light and airy walkways, up wide stairs and along corridors where pretty young maids sat on stone benches and giggled. Eventually they stopped outside a set of vast ebony doors, with huge silver handles. One of the Unsullied knocked, and a familiar voice called them through. The doors opened, and the guards stepped aside to allow Jon through.

The room was as beautiful as the others that Jon had seen, and yellow sunlight streamed in through tall arching open windows. An unlit hearth stood opposite, and in the middle of the room was a large circular table, around which a gathering of notable faces stood talking. The speaking stopped as Jon ad Sansa entered the room, and all the faces looked to the stunning woman sat at the far side of the table for guidance.

It had been months since Jon had seen her, and his heart leapt to see her looking so well. Her silver hair was braided away from her face as was her custom, and her dress was a dark blue that made her eye appear a darker shade of purple. She stood, her hands folded in front of her.

"I believe we can conclude our council here for today," she said clearly. "I'm sure you all have something important to do. You have my leave to go." The group stood up hastily and made their bows, and Jon recognised their faces; Jorah Mormont, Grey Worm, Lord Varys. But it was the smallest man who caught Jon's attention as the others left the room.

"Lord Tyrion," he said, bowing his head in greeting. "It is good to see you."

The dwarf looked older than last Jon had seen him, having allowed his beard to grow out, and the creases around his eyes seemed closer together. "Your Grace," Tyrion greeted, before turning to Sansa. "My Lady Stark. I hope your travel was not hard?" Despite the apparent age on the Lord of Casterly Rock's face, his mismatched eyes still twinkled.

"We fared well, thank you," Sansa smiled. "It should be good to rest before catching up though. Weeks on a ship leave one somewhat tired, particularly when followed by that ascent up the cliff face." Jon watched their interaction with a smile; it was good to see that they were still friends. It had been Sansa who first counseled Jon that Tyrion was trustworthy.

"My Lady, I know just what you mean," he said, smiling. "I believe your rooms are all ready, but I shall personally make sure a hot bath is awaiting you." He bowed and stepped out of the room, leaving just the two northerners and the Queen.

Jon turned back to Dany, and bowed. "Your Grace," he smiled, but she had already strode up to him and thrown her arms around his neck. He allowed his hands to settle around her waist, and breathed in her scent; spice and smoke and lavender.

She pulled away and smiled. "I'm so glad you are both here," she said, moving to embrace Sansa more gently. "I've missed you, and we have many important things to discuss."

* * *

"What do you look so happy about?" Arya asked as Gendry brought his stallion up next to her. She could see that despite his jaw being clenched tight, his lips still pulled upwards into a smile, and his deep blue eyes sparkled.

He swallowed and nudged her knee with his. Astrid snorted and threw her head in annoyance at the stallions proximity. "I have just had a raven from Lord Varys," he said, looking sideways at her. Arya narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "It seems that a feast is to be thrown upon our arrival. A celebration of sorts of the three royal weddings to take place." He chuckled as her face dropped.

Arya ground her teeth together. "Well, if you want to go I'm not stopping you, but you can go on your own." She hated feasts. Jon knew that, and so did Sansa. Everyone knew it, from the Wall to the Arbor.

Gendry rolled his eyes. "I don't much wish to go either, but we can't really refuse it."

"Why not?" Arya grumbled, dreading it already. "Why can't we just go straight to Storms End? We don't have to stop in Kings Landing." She was dreading it already, and when she inhaled deeply Arya was sure she could already smell the putrid city. The last time she had been in Kings Landing... well, she hadn't really had time to stop and appreciate it, but she was sure it couldn't be much changed from when she had been there as a child. Of course, the Sept of Baelor was no longer standing, thanks to Cersei, but other than that Arya couldn't think how else it had changed.

Gendry smiled at her grumpiness. "You won't even have to wear a dress," he said, "and we don't have to stay long. Just a few weeks. Don't you want to see Jon and Sansa again?" He said, clearly attempting to bring her around to the idea.

Arya elbowed him. "Of course I do," she admitted. It had surprised her, but over the last few weeks she had found that while she missed her brother, it was Sansa's absence she most felt. While at Winterfell she had found her sisters presence calming, comforting. Sansa reminded her of her mother in a way, and Arya missed her soft smiles and her sweet smelling hair, and the way she could boss Arya around into doing things she wouldn't do for anyone else. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt again for not appreciating her efforts more.

"We'll be there on the morrow," Gendry shrugged. "And whether you wear a dress or no, you'd best not take too many weapons with you."

Arya glared at him. "Why, are you afraid I'll stab someone?" He only smirked, and Arya grumbled. She hated feasts. If she did go, there was absolutely no way, no way in hell, that she was going to dance.

Gendry shook his head at her good naturedly and nudged her. "Come on, I've got something to show you." Arya barely had time to shoot him a look of suspicion before he wheeled Rogue around on his back feet and set the stallion to bounding up the hill. A few shouts raised as he burst from the regimented lines, and Arya huffed and gave Astrid her head. The mare snorted and leapt to the challenge, catching up with her bigger counterpart in moments. Gendry looked at her and grinned. "I'll race you," he shouted.

"You're on, Baratheon!" Arya didn't even have to dig her heels into Astrid's sides, simply giving the horse her head. She raised herself in the saddle, balancing on the stirrups, and felt the mare's muscles bunching and releasing beneath her. The hill was relatively smooth, and Arya was a more than natural horse woman. The two flew up the hill, and Arya found herself grinning as the wind whipped her long braid back in the wind, Astrid's tail flicking out behind her. She could hear Gendry gaining behind her, and smiled; his destrier was larger than Astrid, and as such had longer strides, but he was of heavier build, not made for going fast and swift as Arya's courser.

It wasn't a long hill, and soon enough Arya reached the top, offering for her mare to slow to a walk and stretch her neck, but the mare was fit and had other plans, preferring to prance and blow as Gendry came to a stop after them. "Alright milady, you won that time," he conceded. "What would your prize be?"

Arya laughed, and circled around him. "I don't have to wear a dress," she smiled, and he nodded, his lips curling into a smile.

"Did you even notice what I brought you up here for?" He asked her, riding up beside her. At her quizzical expression he shook his head and pushed forwards, beckoning her to follow him. As they reached the brow of the hill, Arya felt her eyes widen drastically. Below them the hill dropped off suddenly, and the entirety of Kings Landing was laid out before them, like a little ants city. Blue waves sparkled on the horizon, and fields of gold and green beneath them. The red and white city twisted and turned, hundreds and hundreds of houses and streets and alleys. Arya could see Visenya's hill, and Rhaenys' Hill, and beyond them in the far distance, Aegon's High Hill and the Red Keep. Arya's eyes swept over the picture, taking it all in.

"That was where the Great Sept of Baelor was stood," Gendry pointed. "And that's the Dragon Pit. I heard that Deanerys is having it rebuilt. That crooked alley, on the near side of Visenya's Hill- that was Tobho Mott's shop. Where I lived." Arya followed his finger as he took her on a visual tour of the city. It was hard to imagine half a million people were down there, with no idea that they were being watched. It was even harder to imagine herself as one of them soon enough. It seemed so small, yet so big at the same time. Her eyes drifted to the where the Sept had once stood. Where her father had been murdered. Had it truly been there? For such a painful, life changing event, it didn't half seem small to look at from the hill she and Gendry stood at.

But Arya had been right about one thing: it did stink.

* * *

"The gates! Open the gates!"

There was a pause and then there was a grinding of metal and wood as someone turned the cogs. The gates that seemed to stretch up for miles opened slowly, sending up a cloud of yellow and brown dust as the bars at the bottom dragged across the ground. Arya blinked it out of eyes, ignoring Astrid as she backed away, shaking her head in the air. God, she hated the south.

Gendry took the lead and Arya followed a pace behind, knowing that as the lord it was his place to ride through the gates first. It didn't last for long; the moment they were through, Arya let Astrid lengthen her stride, keeping perfect pace with Rogue. "Where are we right now?" She asked, peering around her at the buildings and alleys.

How anyone could navigate their way through the place Arya would never know. Every street looked like the one beside it and every turn seemed to come out in the same place as you started. Even the people all looked somewhat the same; tanned, various states of undress, black or brown hair, some red. Old stained shirts and cotton and dust stained sandals. All curious and peering out of windows and doorways. It wasn't so bad here as she knew it was in other places though, and it seemed as though the buildings were in a better state of repair, the streets wider and lighter.

"Over that way is Cobbler's Square," he said, pointing to the right. "We'll go up this street here, and pretty much stay straight after that. We'll avoid Flea Bottom, but we'll have to go through Whores Place, so just watch where you're going. Tavern row might be a little rough too," ee added, taking a turn.

Arya nodded, and looked behind her to see that half of their men seemed just as confused about the cities illogical layout as she did. He, however, seemed to know exactly where he was going, so Arya sat back and followed. Gendry had sent half of the company on to the Stormlands, half of his fighters keeping the minor lords and ladies safe on down the Kings Road, and keeping the rest at a camp outside the city gates. The Brotherhood and Gendry's household guard followed them through the streets of Kings Landing, looking just as out of place as Arya felt. As they progressed down the cobble stone roads, crooked and bent as they were, onto Tavern Row, Arya noticed more and more people coming out to see the small procession. She wondered if any of them recognised Gendry, or he them. She saw a little girl, only five or six years old and clutching a rag doll, watching her. Arya smiled, and waved discreetly at her. For a moment the child seemed shocked, and then shyly waved back, cupping her fingers together.

When Arya looked forwards again, she felt Gendry's gaze on her. "What?" She asked, wondering if she had dirt on her face. The heat of the southron sun had made her sweat, and the dust and dirt had stuck to her face and in her hair.

"You're good with the people," he remarked, nodding back at where the little girl had been. "Most ladies would have ignored her."

Arya exhaled sharply. "I keep trying to tell you," she said lightly. "I'm not a lady."

It was as the words came out of her mouth that there was a commotion. A little boy, shirtless and skinny, had joined in with the procession, swinging his arms stiffly at his sides, pretending to be a soldier. Arya smiled, remembering how her and Bran used to do the same as children, but the smile quickly dropped when a Gold Cloak used the butt of his spear and smashed the boy about the head with it. The child cried out in pain and fell to the floor, and to Arya's horror the Gold Cloaks made to step over the child's body.

In a fit of fury Arya wheeled her horse about. She heard Gendry call her, but ignored him, riding Astrid over to the guard and swinging off of the mares back. The Gold Cloak, having not seen her coming, made to use his spear to hit the child out of the way, but found it stopped in Arya's hand.

"If you hit that child one more time, I will unseem you from your cock to your chin," she snarled. He sneered at her, and continued anyway, but Arya twisted the spear and smashed him around the face with it. Shouts of alarm were raised as the man yelled in pain, his cheek splitting open from the impact, blood flying as he fell backwards. He stared at her in shock, and Arya kept eye contact with him as she broke his spear over her knee. She tossed the two halves at him. "That was a warning," she spat. "Do it again, and I'll be true to my promise."

She turned and crouched down. The boy lay whimpering on the ground, a pool of blood under his forehead, mingling with the grit and dust. She gently grasped his elbow and sat him up. "Are you alright?" She asked him. There was a swelling where the impact had split open his temple, a black bruise forming before her eyes. He whimpered and nodded. "You know," she said, using the cuff of her shirt to wipe away the blood from his skin, "all the best soldiers have battle wounds. Do you want to be a soldier when you're grown?" He nodded, and Arya smiled. "Well, you're off to a good start then. Come on," she pulled him up. "Whats your name?"

He barely had a chance to open his mouth when there was a shout. "Jory!" Arya looked up. "Jory, my Jory!" A woman came rushing forwards, and reached for the boy, pulling him to her in a hug. She looked up at Arya in fear. "I'm so sorry, milady, please, he's just a child, he wants to be a soldier- he meant no harm, I swear it!" Tears streamed down her face, and Arya felt sick. The mother was frightened of her.

She smiled reassuringly. "It's fine- no harm done." The mother still seemed tense. "Take him to a doctor, and tell him to do whatever must be done- come to me after, I'll make sure any finances are paid. He should be fine though." She knelt down again, and put her hand on the boy, Jory's, shoulder. "You know, I used to know a great warrior called Jory," she said, smiling. "I'm sure you'll be a great warrior too, one day." She stood up again. "I mean it," she said to the mother. "Any fee's- I'll make sure that they are paid. And when the day comes that he would wield a sword, send him to me. Truly."

The women stuttered, and gasped. "Milady- thank you, thank you!" She grasped Arya's hand. "I can't express my gratitude-"

Arya flipped their hands and squeezed. "There's no need- truly."

When she vaulted back up onto Astrid, uncomfortably aware of the sheer number of eyes on her, she searched for Gendry. He was coming towards her on Rogue, and behind him the Gold Cloak was cursing and spitting into the dust. Arya watched as his spit mingled with the boys blood and dust.

When Gendry opened his mouth to speak, Arya held up a hand. "Not now, Gendry," she sighed. When it appeared he might protest she cocked a brow. "Do you really want to do this in front of all these people?" Gendry pursed his lips and regarded her, before nodding and urging Rogue on. As they rode onwards, Arya noticed that the people looked at her differently; not quite trusting, but not so bitterly as before. Arya struggled not to blush, and tried not to meet anyone's eye for the rest of the journey, which, thankfully, passed in peace.

They rode into the courtyard of the Red Keep, and Arya searched the faces of the gathering; Jayce moved to take Astrid for her, but Arya didn't even notice him, too busy looking- there! A flash of auburn hair, gleaming in the sunlight. Arya smiled and swung her leg over Astrid's withers, and walked the instance her feet landed. She was just about to squeeze through the small crowd when something caught her arm. Arya turned.

"I missed you, little sister," Jon said, smiling down at her. Despite the oppressive heat he still wore a leather jerkin and long boots, though his hair was tied back and his beard gone. Arya felt her heart swell at the sight of him...

and then her fist collided with his gut.

Jon exhaled sharply, groaning. As the Kings Guard made to defend their king Jon held up a hand. They hesitated, and then took their hands from their swords, stepping back. He looked back down at her and smiled weakly. "I guess I deserved that," he said, before Arya threw her arms around his neck, pressing her face into the crook between his neck and shoulders. He accepted her embrace immediately, wrapping his arms around her middle. Arya breathed in Jon's scent, like steel and leather and snow.

She pulled away and he set her on her feet. "That's for lying to me, you horses ass!" She snarled, punching him in the shoulder. Jon raised a brow, and then glared over her shoulder.

"You told her?" He asked with disbelief, as Gendry came up behind Arya, placing his hand on the small of her back.

Before Gendry could defend himself, Arya narrowed her eyes. "You should be thankful that he did," she growled. "I was all for planning your immediate assassination until he told me!" She watched his face crease with guilt, and she felt her eyes soften. She enveloped him in a hug again, her arms around his waist. "Don't think I'm not still mad at you," she mumbled into his chest.

"Wouldn't dream of it, little sister," she heard him say through a smile. She squeezed, and pulled away, to see her sister had made her way over and now stood beside Jon, smiling gently. Her hair was styled in a northern braid, but her dress was lighter and softer than those she had worn at Winterfell.

"Sister," she greeted, "I've missed you, how-" Her words were cut off as Arya hugged her. She inhaled her sisters smell deeply, and let it calm her. She always smelled so beautiful, depending on which perfume she dabbed on, but underneath it Arya recognised the smell of sweet meadow hay and honey.

"I missed you too," she said quietly, realising just how true it was. She pulled away and stepped back, so that Sansa could greet Gendry properly. It was strange to see them interact, as if two different sides of her life were meeting.

Jon cleared his throat, and Arya looked up. "May I introduce you to Queen Daenerys Targaryen," he said, as an astoundingly beautiful woman stepped up beside him. Arya swallowed.

 _"RUN- RUN NOW!" She screamed, grasping a soft wrist. "GO!"_

"Your Grace," Gendry said, bowing deeply. The queen smiled at him kindly, her violet eyes sparkling.

"It is good to see you Lord Baratheon," she said, her voice soft yet clear. Her hair was braided magnificently, her dress a shade of violet that brought out her eyes, with long sleeves and a tight waist. As she stepped forwards the long and heavy skirt rustled around her legs.

 _The crowd was screaming, men and women running in all direction. The exits were blocked as a hundred people tried to squeeze through a space made for two. Bodies were trampled underfoot, and golden masks gleamed in the sunlight._

 _"YOUR GRACE!" She screamed, running towards her. "GO! RUN!" She dragged her through the mass of bodies, racing for the only route of escape. "GO- I'll keep them off, but you MUST go now. NOW- GO!"_

"Arya?" Arya looked up, and as she did so, she saw recognition flash across the queens face. She swallowed.

"Your Grace," she said, bowing. When she came back up, Gendry, Jon and Sansa were staring at the queen in confusion, for the queen seemed utterly shaken by the sight of Arya.

The guards seemed to notice their queens unease, and Arya did not fail to notice the way their hands seemed to inch towards their swords, leaning forwards to move on a seconds notice. Gendry seemed to sense it to, and his hand curled from where it rested on her lower back, fisting up the fabric, as if to yank her out of the way should there be an attack. Jon and Sansa were looking between her and Daenerys, and Arya bit her lip, waiting for the Queen to speak. She appeared completely shocked, unable to coherently speak. Jon appeared anxious; it was uncommon for the dragon queen to be stuck for words.

"I- I know you," she said, staring into Arya's face. "You were there, before-"

"Perhaps another time, your Grace?" Arya cut across, hoping she wouldn't be reprimanded for interrupting a queen. She saw Sansa snap a look at her, and Gendry tensed beside her, but the queen herself nodded, shakily.

"Yes, you're right," she said, stepping back. "Of course. I'm sure you must be weary after your considerable journey." She looked over her shoulder and beckoned to a Dothraki girl with big brown eyes. The girl, of an age with Arya, trotted over, and Arya could see black tattoos traced into the girls red brown skin. The queen spoke in rapid Dothraki, and the girl nodded. Daenerys turned back to Arya and Gendry. "Please, Irri will show you where you're staying," she said, looking back and forth between them. "I'll have baths sent to your rooms, and some food. If you'll excuse me," she added. Gendry bowed and Arya copied a beat later, and the queen swept off, her dress fluttering in the breeze.

Gendry took her elbow and turned her gently. "What was that about?" He asked, his brow raised in question. Arya bit the inside of her lip, and shook her head.

"Nothing," she said, before following Irri and nodding a quick farewell at her siblings. Gendry followed behind her, and Arya lengthened her strides, though it didn't deter him.

"How can that be nothing?" He asked, turning his face toward her but keeping his eyes straight ahead. "She looked shocked to the core." He straightened up as they turned a corner, but Arya could still feel his eyes on her.

"It wasn't important," she said, climbing up the steps two at a time.

Gendry scoffed. "It sure looked important to me," he huffed.

"Well it wasn't," she snapped, jumping up the last two steps. Irri was not far in front, and Arya would not risk her hearing anything she shouldn't. "Just drop it, will you?" Her impatient tone seemed to catch him off guard, and they turned one last corner before Irri stopped outside of a set of doors.

"My Lord," she said, opening the door, her voice almost intelligible with accent. Gendry threw Arya one more confused and suspicious look before he stepped inside. Grateful, Arya followed after Irri, turning the many marble and stone corridors and staircases. "Khaleesi- her grace," the girl corrected herself before continuing, "thought you may prefer quieter rooms." That surprised Arya; how could the queen have know that? She supposed that Jon could have told her, but she would have thought that Jon would want to have an eye kept on her. Still, she wasn't going to complain.

As they twisted and turned through the keep, Arya wondered if she would ever be able to find her way around, until they came to a set of winding stone stairs. The walls were light coloured brick, with enormous windows every half turn, no different to any other set- but Arya recognised them. They went to the Tower of the Hand. How many times had she run up them before, Fat Tom chasing at her heels puffing? How many times had her father made that climb? _Not enough,_ Arya thought. For a moment she wondered if Daenerys had put her up there, until she remembered Tyrion Lannister would be up there.

Eventually the two came to a wide landing, with thick walls on one side and open archways in the other, looking out across the courtyard. Irri stopped at the last door on the end, and smiled, her sharp teeth positively glowing white against her dark skin. Arya nodded her thanks and pushed the door open. She smiled; like her room at Winterfell, the inside of the door had a heavy bar set into it, to lock people out.

The room was larger than her one at Winterfell, and lighter, a large window looking out across the quieter part of the yard. An enormous canopy bed stood upon a small dais to the side of the room, and a hearth was opposite to it; the hearths at Winterfell were much larger, but this one was ornately carved, with stone flowers and vines and stars. Arya wondered what the point was. She supposed it didn't much matter; it was so hot in Kings Landing she doubted that she would need it lit any time soon. Other than that were tapestries and paintings, desks covered in maps and parchment, bookshelves from floor to ceiling, tall braziers and candle stands. It was the sort of room that Sansa had dreamed of as children, with silks and satins and ornaments, coloured candles.

Arya hadn't even unbuckled her sword belt when there came a knock at the door. "Arya, it's me," her sisters voice called gently through the doors. "May I come in sister?" Arya shouted her in, and the door opened. Her sister emerged first, wearing a light blue dress with heavy sleeves, followed by two handmaids. Carried between them was a large copper tub and steaming pitchers of water. Sansa gently asked them to set it before the hearth, before she walked over to Arya.

"You look well," she said, taking Arya's appearance in, and Arya concealed a smile at the slightly forced tone of her voice. Sansa saw the twitch in her jaw, and broke, chuckling softly under her breath. "Alright, you look even messier than usual, but you look... happy." She scrutinized Arya, her intelligent blue eyes sweeping over her younger sister. "Are you happy?"

Arya sighed and turned away, shrugging off her leather jerkin, pulling roughly at the laces. She waited until the maids left and closed the door behind them before speaking. "I'm happier," she offered quietly. "Gendry... he can be a horses ass sometimes, but he's good. He'll be a great lord, I'm sure of it." And she was. The men seemed to truly believe in him, and trust him. He was able to give orders effectively, but not seem above the people; he was a good man, and a good leader.

Arya sat down on the bed to pull off her boots, looking up as she did so. "But what of you? Are you happy?" Arya had worn many masks in her time- simple ones, like being an orphan boy named 'Arry, and real ones at the House of Black and White- but her sister wore a different kind of mask. Hiding her thoughts behind a veil of courtesy.

Sansa smiled at her, but it didn't seem to quite touch her eyes. "I'm happy enough," was all she said, and Arya didn't push. Sometimes things were better just left alone. She stood up and shrugged her shirt off, and caught the way Sansa's eyes flickered to her scar, though the sadness quickly turned to disapproval upon noticing Arya's tight bindings. However, instead of probing for answers she would not get, Sansa simply took Arya's dirtied and travel stained shirt and folded it while Arya climbed into the steaming tub.

Arya didn't bother to conceal her pleasure at the warm water, a groan of contentment slipping past her lips as she sunk into the water. The handmaids must have put in oils, and their cloying scents drifted up; rose, lavender, other floral scents that Arya couldn't name. The water felt almost silky, but while Arya normally preferred it to be simple and clean, the oils seemed soothing and she could feel her stiff and aching joints relax into the heat.

As Arya relaxed she felt Sansa come up behind her, her soft fingers pulling the leather tong from the end of Arya's long and loose plait. Her hair fell out in a tumble of tangled waves, and she hummed as Sansa combed through it with her fingers. "What's it like?" Arya asked, closing her eyes. "Being back here?"

Her sister paused for a moment, before she poured water over Arya's mane. "It was hard at first," she admitted. "Every blonde was Cersei and every maid was a spy. I kept seeing them all everywhere; Cersei, Joffrey, Baelish, Meryn Trant, Ser Boros." She stood up to fetch something before sitting down again, a bar of purple soap in her hand. "Jon helped though, and Daenerys is kind. I miss home though," she said, "but in some ways it's nice to be back at court- a real court, that isn't just a group of people who are terrified of Joff and all spying on one another."

Arya had never truly imagined what it must have been like for Sansa in Kings Landing; to have been a hostage, to have been forced to look the people who had murdered her family in the eyes and curtsy for them. Arya had never really asked Sansa about what had happened to her, for she got the feeling her sister did not wish to talk about it, a feeling she could empathize with. "What is she like? The Queen?"

Arya had heard tales of the dragon queen, good and bad, depending on who was talking. She knew that Daenerys had freed the slaves in Yunkaii, Astapor and Meereen, that she had inspired the freedmen to fight for her. But she had also heard about the crucifixions and the burnings and the temper, something that was furthered in danger by having three dragons and an army. And that time, before...

"She's a good woman," Sansa said carefully, massaging Arya's scalp with the soap. "She's kind and strong and clever and knows when to reward and when to admonish. So long as you stay on her good side," she added. Arya raised a brow. Sansa sighed. "She can be somewhat... ruthless, and quick to sense a slight. But I truly believe she's a good queen. Without her, Cersei would still be on the throne, and who knows where we would all be if that were the case." She rinsed Arya's hair, and Arya felt the sweet smelling suds slip down her skin and into the water.

"What of the queens brother?" Arya asked. She knew very little about Aegon; she had heard tales, the same as with Daenerys, but other than that... except for that one time. On a plain little boat, on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

"He keeps to himself," he sister said, shrugging. "I hear that he can have a temper too, but he seems like a good king. I haven't seen much of him to be honest. He enjoys scaring the locals though," she added through a smile, "flying dragons over the city. It causes quite the commotion." She chuckled and stood up. Arya looked up and saw Sansa looking down at her, her face hard with determination. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. Sansa only wore that look when she had set her mind to something, and Arya always found it hard to resist her.

"What?" She asked, sitting up.

"Promise not to shout?" Sansa said, holding her hands up. Arya saw it coming and groaned, banging her head lightly against the side of the bath. Sansa sighed, her hands on her hips. "Daenerys just wanted to welcome you, and celebrate the betrothals, that's all. Gendry already told me that he promised you that you wouldn't have to wear a dress, but I made no such promise. So get out of the bath, and dry yourself off, while I go and get a dress." She narrowed her eyes back at Arya in turn, before striding from the room.

Arya sighed and lay back in the tub, wanting to revel in the heat for just a few more minutes. With a groan she pulled herself up and out, sloshing water on the floor in the process. Despite being soaking wet, Arya was still perfectly warm and she stood over the tub to wring her hair out. A stream of sweet smelling water trailed from her thick hair, splashing into the tub. When she straightened up and glanced out of the window it was beginning to get dark, though she could see a hint of orange sunlight behind a cloud.

She dried herself off and wrapped the towel around herself, holding it in place with her hands as she stood in front of the window. It was still strange, to look out across a city; Arya wondered what it must be like for Jon, to look at them all and know they were all of them his people, not to forget the other six kingdoms. Once again, Arya's thoughts turned to Robb, and she wondered how he must have felt when their fathers responsibilities fell to him, and later the much bigger, much older mantle of King in the North.

A knock came at the door, and Arya called them in, assuming it was Sansa with some horrendously uncomfortable dress in tow. She didn't turn around as she sighed, leaning against the window ledge, and letting the breeze wash over her skin. "Sansa, I know that you want me to wear a dress, but I would really just prefer my own clothes." She got no reply, and sighed, allowing the towel to slip down to the small of her back, though she kept the front up. "I'm sure it's a very lovely one, but-"

"Arya, it's me."

Arya span around and felt her eyes widen. Gendry stood in the doorway, wearing smart black clothes and an expression that she couldn't decipher. "Gendry what are you doing?!" She hissed, yanking her towel up higher.

He chuckled under his breath and stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Don't worry, no one saw me come in," he said, taking in her room. "I came to apologise- but I guess I'm a bit late, huh?" Arya creased her brow in confusion. "I came to warn you about Sansa's plan to get you in a dress. Sorry, she just came at me and asked me if you would be coming tonight so I said yes, but that she would be hard pressed to get you in a gown." He sighed, appearing irritated with himself. "She seemed to see it as a challenge. Do you think you stand a chance?" He smiled at her, and leaned against the door frame.

Arya chewed her lip, tugging it into her mouth. Gendry averted his eyes from her mouth, swallowing. "I really, really hate dresses," she grumbled, "but I owe Sansa. I'm wearing my boots though," she said stubbornly. If there was anything that Arya hated more than dresses, it was heels. They were uncomfortable and impossible to move quickly in.

"I bet she'll love that," Gendry chuckled. He looked at her funny, and Arya fidgeted. "You were really amazing earlier today," he said. "With that boy and his mother."

Arya went red. "I only did what anyone else would have done," she shrugged. "The Gold Cloak was just lucky that I didn't make good on my threat." Her face darkened as she pictured the scene again, her fists tightening a fraction around the towel.

Gendry nodded. "I took his name, I'll mention it to Jon on the morrow. Hopefully he'll get what's coming to him." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Lem told me something today," he said casually. "You remember that little dwarf woman? On High Heart?" Arya remained stone still, but her heart skipped a beat in her chest. "Apparently she's been seen just outside Duskendale. It's unthinkable, really, that so many are dead after everything, but she's still here."

Arya swallowed. "I suppose so, yes." She had never... she hadn't thought on the little woman in so long that hearing of her sent a jolt of shock through her, and raised the goose bumps along her arms. Arya shivered, a tingle going down her spine.

Gendry looked at her strangely. "You're not cold are you?" He asked, standing up and walking over. Arya shook her head, and he smiled softly, his hand moving to rest on her cheek. "I can warm you up if you are," he said, his voice low and deep. Arya allowed a smile to slowly grow, her face tilting back as he lowered his lips to hers...

"Arya I f- what on earth are you doing?!"

Gendry dropped his hand as quickly as if he had been burned, and Arya bit the inside of her cheek. Sansa stood in the doorway, looking simultaneously aghast, shocked and ever so slightly pleased. Arya scowled, peering around Gendry. "You people really need to learn how to knock," she grumbled. Sansa narrowed her eyes, before looking straight to Gendry, staring him down as if she weren't half his size. Gendry almost shrunk back, and Arya couldn't help but feel just a little smug at his discomfort.

"Lord Baratheon," Sansa said, composing herself. "I'm sure that you understand just why your rooms are on opposite sides of the keep. You don't help yourself, or my sister, by coming in here alone anyway. Now," she stepped to the side of the door, her elegant brows arched, her arms crossed around the dresses, "I must help my sister dress- no matter what you told her- so if you would be so kind..." She didn't bother finishing.

Gendry blinked. "Of course, Lady Stark, my apologies. I'll look for you later," he added to Arya, before striding out of the room. Sansa closed the door behind him, her eye brows raised in question.

Arya groaned and sat down by the mirror. "Not a word," she growled, as Sansa came up behind her with a comb.

She watched her sister smile in the mirror. "My lips are sealed, sister."

* * *

"Come in," her voice called clearly, and Jon pushed the door open. Dany looked up from her mirror and smiled when she saw him. Jon waited patiently as she spoke in Dothraki to her hand maidens, Irri and Jhiqui. The two girls left quietly, and shut the door behind them. Jon moved across the room and sat opposite her.

She was dressed in a simple white linen robe, her hair all down in a tumble of silver waves; she had clearly been getting ready for the feast when he had interrupted. Jon wished she wasn't throwing it; feasts at home, in Winterfell- they were different. The men were louder, and no one hid behind a veil of lies; what you saw was what you got, but here in Kings Landing everyone seemed to have different faces for every occasion. Jon had little patience for it, but Dany was more practiced in such.

"Jon," she said, moving to sit opposite him. "Is everything alright? I hope your sister is settling well enough, from what you've told me about her." She appeared thoughtful for a moment. "It must be so strange for her- and Sansa- to be back here again." Jon nodded, and then looked up, paying closer attention to her. He had not failed to notice the way she had stiffened when she had mentioned Arya.

"That's actually why I am here," he said slowly. Dany cocked her head slightly, but Jon could tell it was forced. He leaned forwards and sighed. "It was plain to see that Arya surprised you earlier, and you recognised her. I thought you said that you had never met my sister?" Dany swallowed and gauged him, before standing up and walking over to the fire. She stood with her back to him, staring into the flames. Jon didn't know how she could bare the heat, but he supposed for someone who had spent their life in Essos the climate here was cold.

"I don't know her," she said quietly. She turned around to face him, and he stood up. She appeared troubled. "You said that your sister had travelled around during the war." Jon nodded. "Do you know where she went? What happened to her?" Jon shook his head.

"She speaks very little of her life during the war," he admitted. "She... it worries me sometimes. I don't know much about what happened of her, but it isn't hard to see that she has suffered. All I know is that she was in Braavos for a time, and then ended up a slave. Anything before or after that... she only even told me about Braavos in a fit of anger, and Gendry was the one who learnt about her time as a slave." He lowered his brow as Dany paled at his words. "You know something," he stated, and she nodded shakily.

"When I was in Meereen my staged husband, Hizdahr, convinced me to open the fighting pits," she said, her hands twisting a piece of fabric from her gown. "There was a group of insurgents, styling themselves as the Sons of the Harpy, and he believed that by opening the pits we may placate them. We didn't." She moved to look into the fire again, her back to Jon, but he could see the flames dancing in her violet eyes, though he suspected she was not seeing them. Slowly he stepped up behind her.

"One day at the pits there was an ambush,"she recalled. "The Sons of the Harpy were hidden among the crowd. I didn't notice one sneak up behind me, ready to slit my throat." She rubbed her pale throat with her hand, as if imagining the mortal wound that could have ended her life. "I would have died if one of the fighters hadn't thrown a knife. I thought she was throwing it at me until the assassin fell dead behind me. The second his body hit the floor all hell broke loose." She paused for a moment, as if remembering the event.

"My guards rushed me into the pit in an attempt to get me out of harms way, but there were more Harpy's sons than we thought. They swarmed into the pit, and there was just a mass of terrified people, thousands trying to squeeze through exits made wide enough for two abreast. There was no way out." She swallowed and raised her chin in defiance, as if she was nodding in victory at her attackers, for she was alive and they were not.

"My guards were almost all killed, and one of them came after me. I thought that was it, but suddenly out of nowhere, a young girl was there, a stolen sword plunged through his neck." Jon wondered where she was gong with this, and felt a stone of dread fall into his stomach as he connected the pieces. "She said something I could not hear at the time, but I knew that it was Valyrian. She grabbed me, and lead me through the fighting, cutting down anyone that got in our way. She led me through to the tunnel, where the slaves come in and out, and told me to run. Run and not look back. I asked why she wasn't coming, just as she cut down a man who had chased after us. She shouted at me to go, so I did." She stopped, and turned to look at him. "I thought she must have died, sacrificing herself for me. I looked for her at the next match, but she wasn't there. Now I know why; she must have made her way home."

Jon shook his head, unable to process the information. Arya... had been a fighting slave? A pit warrior? No, she couldn't have been, she would just have been a young girl, a child with no experience at fighting. But despite his want for Dany to be wrong, what else could explain her proficiency with a weapon? Where else would she have learned. "Are you saying that, that girl," he swallowed, "that girl was Arya?"

Dany took his hand and stared up into his eyes. "I could never forget that face," she said honestly, and Jon could see in her eyes that she was not lying. He inhaled and leaned against the hearth, staring into the flames, ignoring the way the heat made the skin on his face feel tight. Jon had heard tales of the things that slaves suffered, and the thought that Arya, his little sister, had seen those things, experienced those horrors... where was the little girl that begged to ride on his horse with him? The little girl that used to cry when Jeyne Poole called her ugly? _No wonder that girl is gone, with the things she must have known_ , he thought bitterly. _No wonder she seems to harbour such a hatred for the world._

He swallowed thickly, and turned to face Dany when her hand came to rest on his shoulder. Her face was full of concern, and he took her hand in his. "Arya... how did she come to even be there?" He asked bitterly. "She should have been safe, with family. Not on her own, a child in a foreign country, fighting for her survival. How did a mere girl survive the pits, against seasoned warriors?" He flexed his sword hand, and sat down heavily on the table.

Dany moved over to stand between his legs, leaning her forehead against the top of his skull, before pulling back. Her elegant eyebrows were pulled back in concern, and he sighed. "I knew that Euron Greyjoy was the one that sold her," he said, his voice hard. "It's time I spoke to Tyrion. He may be able to think of a way to trap the man who did this to my sister. I'm going to kill him."

He remembered when he had thought Ramsay Bolton had married Arya. When the battle was won and he had gotten into the castle, Jon had hunted the monstrous man down, intent on finding Arya. He hadn't. Just before he killed him, the bastard had spoke of Arya's death, and his word still rattled through Jon's memory like poison.

 _The bastard smiled, his bloody lips pulling back to show sharp and pointed teeth. "I imagine you're looking for your sweet sister. She isn't so sweet to look on now," he had laughed. "You see, she tried to run. And pregnant with my own babe, too! Well, I had to punish her, didn't I? She was brave, I'll admit it," he smiled, licking his lips. "She didn't shed a single tear until I told her what I would do to you."_

 _Jon pushed him against the wall, crushing his windpipe. "Where is she?" He snarled. "Where is my sister?"_

 _The bastard slid down the wall a little when Jon let go, though his cruel smile stayed in place the whole time. "Dead." He said simply. "Well, there was so little of her left when I was done with her that there was hardly anything to bury. My dogs didn't mind though, they love a good body. I did too, while she was alive. In fact, I loved her good body every single night. I don't think she much liked mine though."_

Jon had killed him then. He had beaten him, beaten him until his face resembled a slab of bloody steak, but it still had not been enough. Even when he had later learned that the bastard of Bolton had never even had Arya, it had not been enough. Even now, it still was not enough. But what he felt towards Ramsay Bolton he felt towards Euron Greyjoy tenfold.

 **Phew! So there we have it, another chapter, done and dusted. Woa I have been building up to that reveal for sooooo long! I was so panicked that I had already accidentally revealed it and reread the story about ten times just to make sure. I hope it was unexpected, though I suspect it wasn't. Anyway, you know what to do- review, review, review! Any questions feel free to pm, I will try to get back to you. As always, thank you so much to those of you that have reviewed or messaged me, it is always great to hear from you! Anyway, I'll let you get on now! Over and Out xoxo**


	27. Tidings From The Past

**DISCLAIMER: Is this really necessary at this point? I mean, GRRM is one of the most famous authors out there, and no one even knows me... in any case, I do NOT own A Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire or any of it! Rights to GRRM and HBO!**

 **Good Day readers, I hope you all enjoyed the last update! I won't say much, but a couple of people have requested a short recap before each chapter, so I will start doing that. As ever, please leave me a review, any questions and I'll get back to you asap, other than that, Over and Out! xoxo**

 **RECAP: Jon and Sansa made it to Kings Landing, and have spent a few weeks getting used to court life. Arya and Gendry arrive weeks later, and Arya gets into a bit of a scuffle with a Gold Cloak within minutes of their arrival. Arya reunites with Jon and Sansa, and Dany shocks everyone by recognizing Arya, though Arya hints that it is best left alone. Arya, though extremely unhappy with the feast being thrown in honour of her and her family, spends some bonding time with Sansa, preparing for the feast. Gendry sneaks into her room when Sansa leaves to question the interaction between Arya and Dany, which she refuses to answer. Gendry lets slip that the Ghost of High Heart Hill has been seen at Duskendale, and the news shakes Arya. Sansa catches Arya and Gendry about to kiss, and teases her sister. Meanwhile Jon confronts Dany about the earlier reaction to seeing Arya, and she admits that Arya saved her life once before in Meereen during an uprising, at which time Arya was a slave in the fighting pits. Jon is horrified and plans to seek Tyrion out for advice on trapping Euron Greyjoy, as while he had known Euron had sold Arya at some point, he had not realised the magnitude.**

 **Ok, I think that's all... I didn't know how much detail to put in! Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and I'll see you next time! Over and Out! xox**

* * *

"Will you stop fidgeting?" Sansa hissed at her sister as they rounded a corner.

Arya huffed. "I can't help it, the stupid thing keeps getting caught between my legs!" The dress that Sansa had put her caught between her legs with every stride, but when Arya had picked the skirts up Sansa had slapped her hands away.

"If you hadn't insisted on wearing those god awful boots then the dress wouldn't have to trail the floor!" Her elder sister snapped, before sighing. "Just take shorter strides, and don't walk so fast!"

Arya groaned quietly, wishing she had been able to stand her ground against her sister. Give her a battle, an angry adversary intent on killing her- no problem. But her sister? It was impossible to withstand her. And as such, Arya now found herself corsetted, dressed, with her hair in a northern braid, as she made her way to the feast she would much rather avoid. "I still don't understand why I can't wear my clothes," she grumbled, her hand slipping to her thigh to reassure her that Needle was still there, strapped to her leg.

"You know perfectly well why you can't," Sansa sniffed, walking with perfect poise and ease of practice. "The queen will be there, and all of the most important Lords and Ladies. It would be an insult to wear those rags."

They rounded a corner, and were met with a handful of men and women in the chamber before the great hall. Arya bit her lip and clenched her fists as heads turned towards her, faces unraveling in shock as they saw her. She wanted to rip the stupid dress off and run, out of the Keep, out of the city and out of the South.

Movement caught her eye and Arya snapped her head forwards, to see Gendry approaching. He was dressed in smart black leather almost from head to toe; a leather jacket with tight laces across the front and long sleeves, dark breeches and black long boots- the same ones he always wore. He seemed flustered as he took her in, and Arya scowled. Stupid Bull.

* * *

Gendry waited uncomfortably in the chamber before the great hall, wondering if Sansa was going to have to employ some guards to help drag Arya down. He snorted with amusement, ignoring the strange looks sent his way for it; he would not want to be the one to deal with an angry Arya Stark after she had been forced into a dress.

Thinking of the girl turned his mind back to when the queen had seemed surprised at seeing Arya, and Gendry wondered what it was that Arya was hiding. Whatever it was she was not going to be telling anyone anything anytime soon, and Gendry knew that no matter what he said she wouldn't divulge it until she was ready.

"Is that Arya Stark?" Gendry snapped his head up at words. "Over there?" He heard other whispers, of "I still can't believe she's alive," and "she looks older than I thought." Gendry searched the room for her, and when his eyes fell on her he had to fight to keep his jaw closed. She stood with her sister at the door, but while Sansa wore a polite smile upon her face, the smaller of the two sisters was scowling.

"Ah, Lord Baratheon," Gendry almost jumped when the owner of the voice approached him. A lord, he assumed, but who he didn't know. "I had hoped we might speak, you see I-"

"Excuse me," Gendry mumbled, stepping past the man and towards Arya. She didn't seem to notice him at first, but when her eyes fell on his he saw her obvious discomfort. Why he didn't know, for she was unarguably, the most stunning person he had ever seen.

The dress that he was sure Sansa had wrestled her into was long, and dark grey, an older style than the other ladies gowns. It bared her sultry shoulders and collarbones, the sleeves starting near the top of her arm and running down to her wrist. The bodice was tight, with a lighter grey and white thread design that went from her breasts to the very top few inches of the tight sleeves, and down to her waist, shaped like an arrow head. The skirts flared out from the top of her hips, stopping at the floor and trailing behind her at the back. Her hair was loose but the side sections were pulled away in a series of northern braids. She wore no jewellery or make up, and her pale skin seemed almost white against the fabric, her eyes brighter somehow. Gendry swallowed.

She claimed that she was no beauty, but how she could he didn't know; he had thought her beautiful in the dress she had worn on the first day of their journey south from Winterfell, and even in breeches and leather Gendry believed her to be breathtaking, in a strong, fierce and Northern way, the way he imagined the warrior queens of old had once looked. But stood before him now, Gendry could barely form a thought. However, when his eyes met hers, and he saw her scowl had deepened, he knew that she would not appreciate him saying so.

Sansa cleared her throat. "Lord Baratheon," she offered, smiling softly. "She's beautiful, is she not?"

Gendry swallowed, and looked the younger sister in the eyes. "Aye," he said, his voice slightly rough. "She is." He watched as Arya's face remained guarded, though her eyes seemed to widen just ever so slightly... before her scowl deepened.

"Much better than a towel, wouldn't you say?" Sansa asked innocently, ignoring the murderous expression her sister shot her. Gendry blushed and her white teeth flashed at his discomfort. "If you'll excuse me, I must go and find Jon to tell him we are all ready. The queen will wish to start the feast, I'm sure." She touched Arya's arm briefly before leaving, walking gracefully up the stairs. Arya glared after her, and Gendry cleared his throat.

"It's true," he said, putting his hands behind his back, looking down at her. She turned her face back to his, her eyes narrowed.

"What is?" She grumbled, tweaking her skirt in discomfort.

He smiled slightly, allowing the corner of his mouth to twitch a little. "That you look beautiful." Her jaw clenched at the comment and Gendry felt the corner of his mouth pull up a little further.

Arya narrowed her eyes at him. "You're laughing at me,"she growled. "It's your fault anyway."

Gendry blinked. "What is?" He almost laughed at the indignant expression on her face. "What, that Sansa made you wear a dress? And how is that?" He asked.

Arya stepped forwards and prodded his chest. "Because if it weren't for you coming to my room then she wouldn't have been able to blackmail me into this stupid thing!" She yanked at the dress in distaste.

"Well, I apologise fully, milady," he smiled. "For what it's worth, you do look beautiful. Remind me to thank Sansa later," he added, and Arya exhaled sharply before hiking the skirts right up and stomping off, showing off her long, brown, leather boots. Gendry laughed when he saw them and Arya shot him a filthy look as she disappeared around the corner, skirt swishing behind her.

* * *

Arya ground her teeth together as she stormed around the corner. Stupid Sansa for putting her in the stupid dress, stupid Gendry for laughing at her, stupid everyone! Arya wished she could just leave before the damned feast even began, but she knew that it would be viewed as an insult to the queen. Arya sighed as she walked, her eyes shuttering for the briefest moment. What on earth was she supposed to do? Daenerys obviously recognised her, and the others weren't stupid enough to have missed it. Gendry had already been asking questions, and she was sure Sansa was thinking about it. For all Arya knew, Daenerys could have already told Jon.

If she had... Arya didn't want to think about it. She remembered that day, the victory she had won, the crowds cheering. She remembered the way the crowds cheers had turned to terrified screams as the Sons of the Harpy attacked. She remembered the trampled bodies and the smell of human shit and the way the insurgents seemed to appear from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

Before the match Arya had almost hoped that the queen had someone from Westeros that might recognise her, she had heard Jorah Mormont of Bear Island was her adviser. But he had never met her, and it would have done her no favours to be recognised. Slavery was one thing, but a pit fighter... no one could know, not Gendry, not Sansa.

Not Jon.

Never Jon. She had heard what he had done to Ramsay Bolton, how it had driven him mad trying to save her. He had lost his life for it when he first planned to rescue her. Arya would never let that happen again. The Seven Kingdoms were finally at peace, they didn't need Jon to start a pointless war on her behalf. Besides, if Euron was going to die, it would be by her hand.

But if Gendry kept asking, what could she do? He knew something was up, and it would only be a matter of time before he told Jon that she had ever been a slave at all. And Jon would put the pieces together quick enough. Arya being a slave at the time Daenerys ruled Meereen, Daenerys recognising her, Arya's own proficiency with a weapon. And once he knew...

Arya needed Gendry to never find out. "Stupid, bull headed, bastard boy," she swore, rounding a corner.

"I hope you aren't talking about me."

Arya looked up. Jon stood a few feet away, smiling at her, and Arya relaxed. _If he knew he wouldn't be so calm._ Arya smiled softly at him, stepping closer.

"You look... beautiful, little sister," he said. The effect was immediate; her smile disappeared and she scowled at him, causing him to laugh. Arya thought she saw his hand twitch, as if to reach and muss her hair, but on second thoughts he put his hand down. He chuckled, stepping closer. "I take it that Sansa had to force you into it?" He asked.

"You have no idea," she answered darkly. He smiled... but then the smile seemed to become forced and his eyes seemed to dull a little. Arya creased her brow, but as soon as the expression had come it had gone. Something was wrong. _He knows,_ she thought. But no, he couldn't- or he would already be murderous about it.

He offered a forced smile. "Well, you won't have to stay long, just long enough to save me a dance," he said, smiling what Arya had always thought of as his Jon-smile. Left corner twitched a couple of times and then slowly pulled up.

Arya huffed. "You know I can't dance," she sighed.

He shrugged. "Neither can I, but whats wrong with wanting to dance with my sister?" He asked the question so innocently that Arya could not help but smile as she remembered how he would always dance with her when she was a child. At feasts all of the young lords and lords to be wanted to dance with Sansa, but Arya was the horse faced youngest daughter, and no one had been interested in her- apart from Jon. He would walk up to wherever she was sat and bow so low that she would think his nose must almost be touching his knees, and he would courteously ask her to dance. She would giggle and agree, and he would stand her on his feet and throw her in the air, twirling her until she was dizzy and laughing from her belly.

"I suppose there isn't," she smiled warmly. "But only the one, and do not ask me to dance with anyone else!" She warned sternly.

"Duly noted, My Lady," he smiled, bowing slightly. He reached his hand out, the one that he did not keep gloved, and put it on her shoulder, before sliding it to her cheek. For a split second Arya thought that she saw that look in his face again. "I must go now, and welcome everyone into the hall," he sighed, and Arya smiled; he hated it almost as much as she did. At least Arya wouldn't have to open the damn thing.

Arya watched him go, smiling softly, and sat down on a stone bench. How she wished things could be as they once were. Simple, happy. Her mother and her father together, smiling at each other and their children. Robb, laughing and dancing with the ladies, Sansa blushing prettily at some lordling and whispering with her friends. Bran slipping Summer bits of food under the table, and Rickon chasing after Shaggydog on wobbly legs. Jon sat at the back, on his own, watching the merriment with a quiet smile.

Arya sat there for a while before standing up and making her way to the hall. The doors were open now and she could hear the feast inside. She cursed; if she walked in now everyone would be looking. She just hoped that everyone would be distracted by the feast. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the hall. The dining hall was massive, ten times the one at Winterfell, and the Great Hall in Winterfell was not small itself. The trestle tables were set up in a huge U shape around the outside of the hall, with the queens table on the dais at the back.

Arya felt the way the room seemed to still when she walked in, the way faces turned towards her like dominoes. Swallowing, Arya made her way across the room, praying to whatever God was up there that she didn't trip and fall in her stupid dress. Fully aware of the eyes on her Arya made her way to the empty seat between Gendry and Lord Tyrion. As she reached the table people went back to talking, and Arya just knew it would be about her, the odd girl from the North.

Arya sat down at the table, shooting Gendry a frown, which made him smile and shake his head. "I would have waited for you, but I figured you had run off back to the Wall," he said, his tone light.

Arya had to smile, just a little. "I still just might," she threatened, making him smile again.

"That would be a shame, my lady," Tyrion said from beside her, wine in hand. "I believe that you've made quite the impression on the court." He smiled at her and rubbed the place where his nose should be.

Arya wasn't sure what he meant by that, so she simply smiled and changed the subject. "I hear you're Lord of Casterly Rock now," she said instead, looking for a jug of water. Gendry noticed, and reached for one. She thanked him and poured a cup before looking back to Tyrion.

"You hear correct," he said, raising his own cup, though Arya was sure whatever he was drinking was not water. "Oh how my father must be rolling in his grave," he said dryly, taking a gulp. He looked her up and down before turning back to his wine. "I see you've put aside your armour for tonight," he said, not looking at her, and Arya was about to ask what he meant, and that she didn't wear armour, and that even if she wasn't dressed for a battle she was armed for one- when the hall went quiet. Arya looked up to see Daenerys had stood up, wine in hand.

"My Lords and Ladies," she said, smiling around the room. "It has been a year since the Long Night, and the new dawn is a bright one. The Seven Kingdoms are at peace and recovering well. Trade with the Free Cities is more profitable than ever, and," she looked down at Jon, who was seated beside her, with a warm smile, "we are all reunited at last. Jon, Aegon and myself are stronger than ever, thanks to our ever supportive banners. Lady Sansa will soon be joining High Garden to cement the peace. And of course, Lady Arya has returned home. So," she raised her glass, "Raise your glasses with me, for a new dawn."

Jon stood up beside her, and raised his own. "For a new dawn," he said, smiling at Daenerys, "and long may it last."

There was a scarping of chairs on the floor as the room stood up and raised their glasses. "A new dawn," people called at different times, "and long may it last!" Arya stood up a second too late, and raised her water for lack of wine. She mumbled the words quickly and sipped, still blushing from the queen calling attention to her. Arya looked over at her as she sat down, to see the beautiful woman was watching her, and as their eyes made contact Arya saw the queen nod at her, and raise her glass imperceptibly. Arya nodded back and looked away, wondering what it had been about.

The rest of the meal passed in peace, and soon enough the servants came to clear the plates away. Daenerys stood again and called for music, and as the band struck up people flooded the floor. Arya watched from her seat as people swayed and turned in unison, dresses swishing and whirling, laughter ringing up to the ceiling.

"You're not going to dance, my lady?" Tyrion asked, nodding at the dancers.

Arya shot him a look. "I don't plan on it, my lord, no. Dancing is not exactly something I am good at."

He laughed and raised his glass; Arya wondered how many he had had. "To that, Lady Arya, I can relate. Fuck dancing," he toasted.

Arya couldn't help but smile and raise her glass. "Fuck dancing," she repeated, drinking. The dwarf grinned at her and gulped noisily, before wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He stood up and excused himself, before waddling off.

"He drinks a lot," Arya observed, turning to Gendry.

He nodded. "Aye, he does, but I believe tonight is particularly difficult for him," he said, before elaborating at seeing her confusion. "Today was the day his brother died, two years ago. He doesn't normally drink so much." He stood up, and held his hand out to her. Arya stared at it and he sighed. "Dance with me?"

Arya narrowed her eyes. "You promised no dancing," she accused.

He shrugged. "I also promised no dress, but look at you. Come on," he said, smiling. Arya hesitated and placed her hand in his. He led her down the steps the the dance floor, where they both stood somewhat awkwardly, unsure what to do. Gendry put a hand at her waist, and she moved hers to his shoulders.

"I warn you," he said, "I have never danced before." Arya laughed once under her breath.

"Well, you'll likely fare better than I," she said. He smiled and they began moving, attempting to copy the other dancers. Arya watched how Gendry looked down at their feet every few seconds, stumbling through the paces.

"I see that the blackmail wasn't enough to get you into heels," he said, looking down at her warmly. Arya chuckled, and he looked down at his feet again, before tripping.

"If you look up you'll be able to balance better," she said, reaching up and taking his chin in her hand. His skin was hot to the touch, and he nodded. "My Septa told me that once. "You have two left feet, Arya, so I advise you don't look at them" were her exact words." Gendry chuckled.

"I bet your Septa just loved you for a student," he japed and Arya allowed herself to laugh freely.

"I was awful," she admitted. "Sansa was always the lady, the star pupil. I think Septa Mordane wished I would somehow bang my head one day and see the light. The only thing I was any good at was household lessons, but it was Maester Luwen that taught us maths." She remembered how she used to run Septa Mordane around and around the whole castle, causing trouble.

"Did you like learning how to run a household?" He asked curiously.

Arya twitched her nose and bit her lip. "I liked being better at something than Sansa for a change," she said, causing him to laugh, "but my favourite was history. I loved to learn about Aegon and Visenya and Rheanys and their dragons. About Good Queen Alysanne and Nymeria's thousands of ships." She smiled; she remembered all of the stories she had learned as a child.

Gendry watched her thoughtfully as they turned. "It must have been nice to grow up in a castle, with Septas and Maesters."

Arya watched him carefully for any emotion on his face but he gave nothing away. "I guess it was," she admitted, "but it wasn't always easy. Having everyone look to you and know you disappointed them for not being more like Sansa." That was true at least; Jon had been her only true friend.

He smiled. "Well, for what its worth, I prefer you as you are," he admitted, and Arya raised a brow in surprise. "You're beautiful in a dress, it's true, but it's plain to see you aren't comfortable. I like you in leather and wool, your hair messy from riding. I like watching you train so hard that you sweat. You wouldn't be you if you were like Sansa."

Arya felt her eyes widen in surprise at his confession, and her lips parted slightly, unsure what to say. He... preferred her to the ladies of the court? Even with a sailors mouth and swords and bruises? She was about to call him a stupid boy, when his hands dropped to her waist and he hoisted her into the air as if she weighed no more than a doll. She gasped as he span and set her down again, a beat after everyone else.

She swatted his shoulder. "What was that for?" She hissed, blushing, and he smirked.

"I also like it when you get all flustered," he said, just as the song ended. He let go of her somewhat reluctantly. "I must go and speak to Greenbeard," he said, looking over the heads of the dancers. Unable to share the same luxury of being tall Arya could not see, but she assumed he was looking at the old Brotherhood member.

"Why?" She asked, her brow furrowed in concern. "Is something wrong?"

Gendry smiled and shook his head. "No, just someone reported seeing bandits nearby, similar to the one's dominating the Stormlands before I got there." He sighed and rubbed his jaw with his hand. "The locals call their leader the Black Knight. They say he's not human.'"

Arya smiled. "Words are wind," she said. "And like wind, word travels fast. Don't think on it too much; I'm sure he'll drop as fast as any other man with a sword through his heart."

Gendry chuckled. "I hope you're right," he said. "But nevertheless, I must speak to Greenbeard."

She watched after him as he left and then moved to the side of the room, reaching for a glass of water, thirsty after the dance. It hadn't been as bad as she had thought it would be, but it had left her throat dry, and she gulped the water down so fast that a lady to her left pulled a face, which Arya promptly ignored.

She watched the crowds and spotted Sansa. She wore a light pink dress, with a white lining and a fancy golden belt. She was dancing with someone, and Arya creased her brow. The man was tall, though nowhere near as tall as Gendry, and handsome too- with two perfectly healthy legs. _Not Wyllas Tyrell then_ , Arya thought. Yet Sansa seemed to smile at him in a way that Arya could only recall as the way her mother used to smile at their father. Before Arya could think any more about it someone spoke from behind her.

"Cat."

Arya turned around to see a tall and wiry man, with silver hair and violet eyes, the same eyes as the queen. Arya blinked. "You've changed your hair," she said without thinking, causing the king to chuckle.

"So have you," he said, tweaking one of her long braids. "How are you Cat? The last time I saw you was on the way to Lorath. I heard what happened there." He watched her intently and Arya blushed. Another person that knew about what had happened to her. Great.

"I survived," she said simply, looking him up and down. "As did you, apparently." He was taller than last she had seen him, and broader in the shoulder and chest, but when she imagined him with blue hair she could still see the Young Griff from her past.

He smiled and nodded. "So I did," he said, before offering her his hand. "Will you dance?" He asked. Arya hesitated and he smirked. "You wouldn't deny a king now, would you?" Arya smiled and hesitantly placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

He confidently took the position, the song faster and more upbeat than the one she had danced to with Gendry. He held up one hand, the other folded behind his back, and waited for her to match him. She did, and then they were off. Aegon was a good dancer, she observed, and his confident paces were easier to keep up with than Gendry's jolted and unsure ones.

"How did you know it was me?" She asked as they turned a circle.

He shrugged. "I didn't until I saw you walk into the hall, late I might add," he added, teasing her. She blushed and smiled. "I hear that you're a lady now, Cat. That's one hell of a journey, from a fisher girl in Braavos to a Lady of Winterfell and the Seven Kingdoms- soon to be Lady of Storms End." They parted momentarily and swapped hands before starting again, as was part of the dance required for this song.

Arya sighed. "Not if I can help it," she said, and he smiled. She looked down and then back up. "But what of you? A sellsword's son to the King of Westeros. Now that's what I call one hell of journey, Griff. But it isn't Griff anymore, I suppose, just as I'm not Cat."

He looked down at her, smiling almost sadly. "It was easier then, wasn't it? Simpler. When I was a boy called Griff and you were a girl called Cat." He put his hands on her waist and picked her up, with more strength than she had first guessed he had. _Not as strong as Gendry though,_ she thought in the back of her mind.

"I have to ask that you promise not to tell anyone that you knew me, Gr- your Grace," she corrected herself. He raised a brow.

"Aegon is fine," he said suspiciously. "And why not? It doesn't seem important." He narrowed his eyes.

Arya shook his head. "Look, no one knows what happened after Braavos and Lorath, so just keep quiet will you?" She asked, her voice hushed as he span her beneath his arm, her skirt flaring out. "I don't want anyone to know."

He watched her, his purple Targaryen eyes watching her scrutinizing. They were a lighter shade than Daenerys'. "Why not?"

Arya sighed, wishing he would just stop. "I don't want Gendry to know, but I especially don't want Jon to know." He raised a brow and she sighed impatiently. "Alright look, if people ask just say that we met on the way to Westeros. You took pity on the orphaned fish girl, and afforded her passage on your ship."

He nodded. "I still don't understand why no one can know about what happened to you. I imagine it would lead to Jon having Euron executed. Isn't that what you want? Revenge?" He twisted her around.

When she came back she replied. "Of course I do... but on my own terms." She waited a moment. "So you'll keep it a secret, what happened at Lorath?"

He hesitated and span her away again. When she face him again he answered her. "You won't put yourself at risk?" He asked, squeezing her hand.

She almost rolled her eyes. "You know that I can look after myself," She answered, but he didn't appear reassured. She sighed. "I swear I will not put myself at risk- do you promise now?"

He smiled and bowed on the last note of the song. "I swear it Lady Cat," he teased. "Your secrets are my secrets." He smiled and then walked away, disappearing into the crowd of smiling and laughing people. Arya still felt somewhat shocked at seeing him, even more surprised that he had recognised her so easily. Arya sighed and was about to turn and go to sit down, her feet aching, when someone tapped her back. She turned around.

"You promised me a dance, remember?" Jon said, smiling down at her. Arya almost groaned, and she thanked the gods that she had fought Sansa about her footwear; had she conceded to wear heels she would be on her knees by now.

"I was actually just going to sit down," she said, and he shook his head good naturedly.

"Not yet. I need to talk to you."

Arya was taken aback by how serious he sounded. "Well, I suppose I can spare one dance for my big brother," she smiled, taking his hand. He smiled down at her and took her waist, the music starting. Jon wasn't as bad as Gendry, but he wasn't by any means a good dancer. He was able to dance passably well but she struggled to keep up, for he hadn't the confident grace of Aegon nor was he as free and innovative as Gendry had been.

"I saw you dancing with my brother," he mentioned as she turned beneath his arm somewhat awkwardly. "You seemed familiar with him," he said casually.

Arya nodded as he turned them around, stumbling. "I told you on the way to Winterfell that I'd met him before." He cocked a brow, and Arya was glad that she had had the chance to go over the story with Aegon minutes ago. "He didn't know who I was, nor I him at the time, but I sailed to Westeros with him," she told him. "He still had blue hair then."

Jon blinked, and grinned. "He had blue hair?" He asked. She nodded and he laughed from his stomach, causing a few of the partners around them to shoot them looks.

"He called himself Young Griff," she recounted, smiling. It must be strange for him to have found out, after all these years, that he had a brother- a brother from his real father and not his uncle.

"What about you?" He asked. "Who were you back then?"

Arya swallowed. "I called myself Cat," she said, keeping it true. "Cat of the Canals. He found me when their ship stopped in Essos and he gave me passage. I don't believe Jon Connington was too impressed about it." Ah- Connington. She would have to fins out if he was alive as well, for he knew her secret as well. He seemed like the sort of man that would not wish to stir up trouble... but then, he had seemed fiercely loyal to the throne, and who knew what he would do? She shrugged mentally; it would be easy enough to sort out. She smiled, only to see that Jon's face was entirely serious now, surprising her. "Jon?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked suddenly. Arya looked up, startled by the question. His face seemed almost wracked with pain, and her stomach jolted. _He knows._ She slipped her face into a mask, but it was too late; he had seen her expression. "Dany told me."

"... I see."

They had stopped dancing. "I- why did you say nothing when you found out Euron was still alive?" He asked. "I would have done something, something more than sending you South and away from him. I would have killed him for you." He took her chin in his hand, but she shook it off.

"That is precisely why I said nothing," she said. "I knew what you would do, but Euron Greyjoy is mine and mine alone. You didn't need to know." She let go of his hand and stepped back. "I'm not your little sister anymore, Jon. I'm not _yours_ anymore." She felt a kick of guilt immediately at the wounded expression on his face, but she couldn't take the words back. Unable to deal with the heartbroken face she moved back a step and then turned. When walking wasn't fast enough she pulled the stupid skirts on her dress right up to her hips and ran.

She heard people calling her, Jon and Sansa, but she ignored them. She ran through the crowds and out of the doors, across the open courtyard. She made her way through the castle, her heart thudding and her breath fast, her eyes stinging and her thoughts a jumbled mess. Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn't- she wouldn't apologise. Arya rushed to her chambers and kicked the door open.

A maid had lit the fire, casting orange shadows throughout the room, and Arya yanked her stupid dress off. She should never have come here, she had known that. If she hadn't been so stupid she would have left Gendry long ago- fuck it, she was a Faceless Assassin, and she needed to remember that! She yanked her clothes on in a rush, and sat on the bed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw colours.

They knew now, and it would not be long before Gendry knew, and the he would make good on his promise and never let her out of his sight. She wouldn't get the opportunity to find Euron and kill him if Gendry had her under surveillance around the clock. But Euron could be anywhere, on the other side of Westeros, in Essos- wherever he was he would be surrounded by water and his own men.

But she couldn't stay here. Not where Jon and Sansa and Aegon and Gendry were all going to searching for her, not this foul place where she had striven to never see again. This place her father had died in. She needed to do something, something that was her. Arya needed to be free, to be alone, just as she always had been.

Gendry... he meant a lot to her. That was why she had stayed so long when she never should have. She needed to start remembering who she was again, and she couldn't do that here. She jumped up and grabbed a jerkin, her sword belt and weapons. Ideally she would take furs and food too, but there wasn't time. For all she knew he, or they, could be headed after her now. She crossed the room hurriedly and dropped the heavy bar across into its slots. The thing was huge, the only way anyone coming could open the door would be to take it off its hinges. It wouldn't hold anyone forever, but it would buy her some time.

Arya cast a look about the room as she sheathed Dark Sister. Without looking back, Arya hopped up onto the window ledge. She heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and with one last breath, leapt.

* * *

Gendry walked back into the hall, surprised by the commotion, having been out in a courtyard with Anguy and Greenbeard. When he walked back in the lords and ladies all seemed to be gossiping and no one was dancing. Confused, he pushed his way through the crowds, searching the sea of faces for Arya or Jon or Sansa, someone who might be able to explain to him what was happening. Eventually he caught sight of Sansa, talking to a man that Gendry did not know.

"Sansa," he said, walking over to her. She turned around and Gendry was surprised further to see that worry was etched upon her face.

"Gendry," she said, sliding immediately to courtesy. "This is Harold Hardying, the Lord of the Eyrie. Harry, this is Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storms End." Gendry reached out and caught the other mans forearm in greeting.

"You're betrothed to my lady's wild sister, are you not?" He asked. Gendry held his breath and exhaled tersely. He should have known the cause of the commotion was Arya.

"Aye, I am," he said, before turning to Sansa. "What has she done now? Did she stab someone?" Harold seemed to think he was joking for a moment, but Sansa's serious answer sobered him.

She shook her head. "No, but if you don't find her soon she may end up doing just that," she said. "Jon is in through there, you had best go and speak to him before you find her."

Gendry creased his brow. "What did she do? Surely it wasn't that bad?"

Sansa shook her head in exasperation. "In all fairness Arya didn't do anything that couldn't be expected, but you really ought to see Jon. He'll explain, and maybe you can knock some sense into him when he's finished." Gendry blinked at her harsh words, but nodded and strode off in the direction she had pointed, through the ante chamber and into a small audience chamber, lit by candles and a roaring hearth.

"Jon, you can't!" The queen was whispering in loud tones, while Jon stood his ground. Aegon leaned against the hearth appearing utterly amused by the whole situation. They all looked up when he entered, and Aegon chuckled.

"And so the husband arrives," he said, his tone strange. Gendry ignored it.

"What in seven hells is going on?" He asked. "I leave for twenty minutes and I come back to chaos, only to find that Arya has gone missing!" He breathed out heavily, dreading to hear what had happened. He never should have stopped in Kings Landing!

Jon looked him straight in the eye. "I found out what Arya has been hiding, from you, from me- from all of us."

Aegon snorted again and crossed his arms. "Not from me," he said, smirking when Jon shot his older brother a filthy look.

"Will one of you just explain to me what is going on?" Gendry snapped, losing his patience and not caring if he was speaking to royalty.

Daenerys stepped around Jon, her silver hair glowing ominously in the fire light. "You were the one to inform Jon of Arya's time as a slave," she said carefully, "and that Euron Greyjoy was the one that captured and sold her." Gendry nodded, wondering what it had to do with anything. Daenerys sighed and sat down gracefully. "Well, we were able to piece together some more of the story, and this fool decided a good time to tell her was in the middle of the feast." She explained it with an almost guilty expression.

Gendry blinked. "I see... but I don't understand why this would cause such a commotion." Unless... "Did she kill someone? Did she try to kill you?" He asked, looking at Jon. "Wait, what did you even discover?"

Aegon pushed away from the wall, an odd expression on his face. "You see, the girl that you know as Arya Stark, I knew as Cat. Cat of the Canals," he explained. Gendry exhaled, confused. "And she knew me as Griff, a sell swords son. We met in Braavos, and I gave her passage on my ship to Lorath." Gendry felt his brow crease in confusion. What did this, what did any of this, have to do with Arya being missing? "She made me promise when we were dancing not to tell any of you, but with what has happened I hardly think it matters now."

Gendry snapped his gaze up. "You danced with Arya?" He asked, half surprised, half jealous.

Daenerys cleared her throat. "Try to focus, Gendry," she advised and he nodded, thinking back to what Aegon had said.

Lorath... that sounded familiar. "When was this?" He asked the Targaryen.

"Around four years ago. During the time that-"

"- that Euron Greyjoy was taking slaves from the Free Cities and sailing to Slavers Bay," Gendry finished. So her slavery had come up. No wonder she was pissed. He sighed and scrubbed his jaw; if she hadn't known before that he had told Jon when she had asked him not to, she would assume that now. "I don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "We already knew this."

Daenerys shook her head, and Jon stood, angry and sullen behind her, his face weathered with fury and bitterness that shocked Gendry. He had seen the man angry before, and he always seemed somewhat weary, but he had never seen him like this before. "We did... but I know more of the tale. You see," she said, standing up and walking to the fire place, "I met her once before. She saved my life."

Gendry's eyes snapped over to her. "What do you mean?" He asked, impatient. Why would no one just tell him straight?!

Daenerys sighed and turned back around to face him. "I remember her face, I'm certain... though I could have sworn the girl I saw had scars, unforgettable scars on her face." She appeared troubled for a moment. "It was in Meereen, when I was queen there. I was forced to re open the fighting pits, but one day there was a rebellion and I nearly died... had one of the fighting slaves, a young girl that the crowds called Dark Heart, not saved my life." She looked straight into Gendry's eyes. "It was Arya, I'm almost certain of it."

Gendry realised how much his hands were trembling and forced himself to unclench his fists. Arya... a gladiator... it couldn't- it wasn't... was it? But it all fit, all of the things that he had been putting together slowly... was this the last piece of the puzzle? "Are you certain?" He asked, his voice stronger than he thought it would be.

She hesitated and then said "I recognised her the moment I saw her, but... those scars. I would never forget them, and Arya does not have those scars on her face. But other than that..." She trailed off and sat down again, twisting the fabric of her skirts in her hands.

Gendry swallowed and turned around, rubbing his jaw with his face again. He hated to admit it, but it didn't sound far off the truth, just a possible answer to the riddle he had been labouring over for months. And... Jon had thought it a good idea to just brig it up? In the middle of the feast? For a moment Gendry wanted to hit the man for his stupidity. And Dark Heart... where had he heard that before? Not in years, surely, but he was certain he had heard the phrase. Arya knew how to look after herself. But he would not ever let her get hurt. He turned around. "When did she leave?" He asked, looking to Jon.

Jon did not answer, instead looking up. Fire blazed in the depths of his grey eyes, and not from the reflection of the roaring hearth. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill Euron Greyjoy."

Gendry frowned. "Not if I do first," he muttered darkly, already picturing thrusting a sword through the mans throat.

Aegon rolled his eyes. "Perhaps you ought to actually speak to the girl first?" He asked sarcastically. "Arya is the one Euron is after, and seeing as you," he gestured to Jon, who glowered back at him darkly, "just unveiled her biggest secret that she has been hiding for years, what do you think she is doing right now?"

Gendry swallowed and looked to Jon. "When did she leave?" He asked again.

"Two minutes before you came," he sighed. "Gods, it's my fault. I just blurted it out without thinking... we have to find her and apologise."

Aegon stepped in again, sighing in exasperation. "Did you really not hear anything I just said?" The two men looked at him in confusion. "Look, Jon, Cat- Arya- has been separating that past from her present for years, and you just brought it up. How do you think she is feeling right now?" He said the words with utter exasperation, and he turned around in disbelief when both men came up blank.

Daenerys put her hand on Jon's arm. "Jon, when you brought it up you broke whatever wall Arya has been building between the past and the present. Even if she won't acknowledge it, she is feeling confused, angry, and likely scared. She will want this over with so that she can move on. So what do you think she is doing right now?"

Jon paled.

He strode to the door and called the guards. "I want the Keep sealed off now," he said. "No one leaves." The guards nodded and left, their armour clanking down the hall. Jon turned to the others. "I don't care if Arya is a seasoned gladiator, or whatever else she is- she is my baby sister. I will not risk her putting herself in harms way like this. Right now she is not thinking rationally; she will go off after Euron, and it could cost her life."

 **Dun, DUN, DUUUUNNN! Big oofs all around. Woah, so I hope you liked it, give it a review if you did! Or if you didn't, but that would make me sad :( So I know that obviously none of this happened, that is kind of the point! Please try to remember this; I have had a couple of pm's stating this, non of them mean or rude at all, but I'm just saying- I know that I have changed things from the books and TV programme! That being said, I hope you enjoyed it, if you did let me know your thoughts, if you didn't- let me know your thoughts anyway! It helps me to know what you guys want from the story! Anyway, that's all from me, over and out! xox**


	28. Winters of Her Youth

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah... I don't need to say it, do I? But I will anyway: I don't own, rights to GRRM and HBO**

 **Greetings readers! So the last chapter had a pretty big reveal in it, but I'll get into that in a second. First of all, thank you to my lovely reviewers, guests and members- they are much appreciated! On another note: a few people have been complaining about the wait between chapters, and while I absolutely understand the annoyance and the frustration, please try to remember that I am trying really hard not only to find the time to write this in, but also to do it justice. In order to do that though, I have to take the time. I would also point out that today, my first day off in weeks, I have been writing from ten in the morning until midnight, so that I can get chapters written in time. Overall I have written almost six hundred pages; that is as long as GRRM's actual A Storm of Swords part one. Longer than Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Apologies for the rant, but I have been sitting up to four hours of GCSE exams (for you Americans I believe GCSE's are the equivalent of your SAT's or something? Exams you take when you are sixteen? Apart from as I take early sixth form as well, I have double, so yeah- it isn't fun!) every day for the last month or so. Before them were mocks. Before them were more mocks. I get set up to thirty pieces of homework a week. I get home from school at half past five. I go to work four times a week at a stable yard. I then come home again and do my own horses, and my chores, which there are a lot of when you live on a farm. Aside from that I have chronic fatigue syndrome and chronic insomnia, which means I will go so long without sleeping that I will faint. I faint a lot because of this. It is a big issue. Please try to remember all of this when you next have to wait a week or two between updates.**

 **Ok, rant over! I know that the majority of you understand this, but for those few people that have messaged me to say that it is rude and irresponsible and bad form- kindly be quiet :)) I know that the waits can be long- but on days when I have spare time, I am writing this story. I genuinely have sores on my arm from it constantly rubbing the edge of the laptop while I write- which has been fifteen hours today. So please be nice! That is all I ask! Anyhoo, rant over fully now. I'm actually done this time! I hope you enjoy this chapter, especially after an inconvenient wait lol. Sorry. I'm done this time, really. Aaaaand I'll shut up! Please drop a review, I'll get back to you! Hope you like it, Over and Out xox**

 **Oh, and here is the recap of last chapter!**

 **Arya ends up being forced to the feast and Gendry thinks her stunning, though he tells her:** _ **"Well, for what its worth, I prefer you as you are," he admitted, and Arya raised a brow in surprise. "You're beautiful in a dress, it's true, but it's plain to see you aren't comfortable. I like you in leather and wool, your hair messy from riding. I like watching you train so hard that you sweat. You wouldn't be you if you were like Sansa."**_ **It really touches her. She has a short conversation with Tyrion, and dances with Gendry. Initially she doesn't want to, but admits to herself that it isn't so bad. Gendry leaves to speak to someone and Arya meets a face of her youth: Young Griff, now known as Aegon Targaryan, King of the Seven Kingdoms. The two dance and talk, and Arya realizes he knows about what happened to her. She makes him promise to say nothing about it, which he does reluctantly. He leaves, and Arya dances with Jon. Jon blurts out that he knows she was a slave in the fighting pits, and Arya leaves the dance. In a haste to feel some semblance of control and familiarity and identity, Arya escapes in the middle of the night. Gendry comes back and is confused at what happened, but Jon, Dany and Aegon explain to him their different parts of Arya's tale. Furious, he flies into a rage, and Jon (also in a rage) sets the guards to not let her leave the Red Keep as they believe she will try to leave in order to kill Euron Greyjoy- which Arya already has decided she can not do until he is on land and she gets an opportunity, which she does not yet have.**

 **Well, I hope that helps- I know full well that it was a confusing chapter! Over and Out xox**

Astrid snorted and stamped her foot as Arya reined her up suddenly, champing on the bit and swishing her tail with impatience. Arya had allowed the horse her head the moment they left the city, galloping as hard and fast as they could. Past the gate and the dust road, past the slope she and Gendry had raced up, past the small outlaying villages. She had ridden right through the night and on through dawn, and now the mare heaved with a mixture of excitement and exhaustion, snorts and puffs of mist blowing sharply from her nostrils and into the early silver morning air.

Arya kept the reins tight in her hands as she checked each of the roads leading off from the crossroad she had come across. The left road would no doubt take her to the Gold Road to the Westerlands, the road ahead back along the Kingsroad. But it was the smaller, more hidden path that Arya planned to take. While the first two were wide and clear, obviously ridden or walked several times a day, every day, particularly the track to the Kings Road, the third was smaller, narrow enough for no more than three or four abreast, the trees untamed and the ground uneven.

After riding all night, one might expect for Arya to be exhausted, her eyelids drooping and her body slumping in the saddle- but it was not so, for Arya was bolt awake, all of the nerves in her body hyper aware. This was what she was made for, she told herself as she galloped from the Keep. Not for riding along slowly with someone else's company. Not for being around others, constantly being dictated by what they required. Arya was a lone wolf, and the wolf did not need nor want company from others.

It wasn't her plan to never return to her pack, though- but she wouldn't return until this business was done. Arya knew that until Euron was on land, she wouldn't ever have a shot at getting to him- not near enough to kill him the right way. Arya could easily cause him to die, but she did not want him to simply leave existence like words upon the wind. She wanted him to know that it was her, to see how the ghosts of his past would be his downfall. When Robb had won victory at the Whispering Wood no one could have ever have guessed that the Young Wolf would win over the seasoned Kings Guard, Jaime Lannister. _Robb was more wolf than man though, and so am I._

Too long had Arya lingered with the Baratheon Company, complying to Jon's wish for her to go quietly into the safety of the South, under the protection of Gendry. Too long had she forgotten who she was; she was Arya Stark of Winterfell, she was a Faceless Assassin, she was a voyager of the seven seas and the lone wolf. Not Lady Arya, the kings little sister, betrothed to the Lord of Storms End. She was Arya Stark, and she would not rest until she had her revenge.

But revenge would still not be possible until Euron set foot on land, and until he did that, she was powerless. But not helpless. Arya allowed Astrid an inch of rein and the mare took off in canter, her belly heaving as she set off down the smallest of the three paths, the path that Arya had hoped might bring her to her past and her future, the path to her revenge on Euron Greyjoy. The path to Duskendale.

* * *

Gendry watched from the edge of the room as Jon paced, his gloved hand stretching with each agitated stride. The man was a wreck; it had been a day since Arya left the feast, and she had shut herself in her room since, not answering to Sansa or Jon or Gendry himself, not anyone. Not even for food. Jon had set two guards outside of her room so that should she leave they could inform Jon that she was unharmed.

But she had not set foot outside of her room.

Gendry watched as Jon grew more and more agitated, and pushed away from the wall. "Jon, you know your sister," he sighed.

Jon stopped suddenly and hit the table. "I don't think I do, anymore," he answered, his voice slightly hoarse. "I love her, more than anything, but I would be lying to myself if I said I knew her. Arya... she is not the same person she once was. This whole," he swallowed, "this whole thing about her time in slavery- how could we not have known? So if she managed to hide that from us, what else is she hiding?" Gendry felt his jaw tick; the man sounded half mad.

He strode over and put his hands on the kings shoulders. "Jon, Arya isn't the same girl she was ten years ago- but neither are you the same boy that she knew as a child." Jon sighed and Gendry squeezed his shoulder. "Don't you think that perhaps she feels just as foreign around you as you do her? Besides, Daenerys isn't even completely sure. She said the girl had scars on her face which you could never forget, but Arya doesn't." He asked, and Jon looked up sharply. Gendry let go of him, and sat down. Slowly, Jon sat down too, breathing out heavily.

"I know that," he said. "But I hate that I know nothing about her, about who she is. That mask she wears... I hate it. But the fear and anger on her face when I told her at the feast... what happened to her? What happened to my sister?" The man sounded so bewildered that Gendry felt a jolt in his stomach.

Gendry shook his head, his stomach lurching at the other mans distress. "When Arya is ready, she'll tell you. She may never be ready, though, and we have to accept that. Now," he stood up, "I'm going to find her, and sort this mess out."

He left the room quickly, half with a drive to see Arya, half with a need to leave the room that was so filled with Jon's despair. He needed to see her, to sort this out, and while he knew that she did not separate herself maliciously Gendry could not help but feel somewhat angry at her for just leaving him blind.

So Gendry strode through the bright marble halls of the Keep to Arya's room, ignoring the disapproving glances of the other occupants. The two guards stood outside of her room, tired but still alert. As he approached one of them stepped forwards.

"Lady Arya has not yet left her chamber," he said, "but when she does we were commanded to tell his Grace immediately. Until then we can not-"

Gendry stopped in front of him, towering over the man in all of his anger. He saw the man falter. "I don't care what King Jon told you or didn't tell you, but I am going in that room." He pushed past him, and neither guard made a second effort to stop him. He knocked sharply on the door. No reply. He knocked again, harder, the door rattling on its hinges. "Arya, I know you're in there! Arya!" He shouted, hitting the damned door. Still no reply.

"Maybe she's asleep," the other guard offered, but Gendry ignored him. He was making enough noise that half the castle must be able to hear him, probably half thinking the castle was under attack again.

"Arya, if you don't open the door, God's help me I will break it down!" He yelled, finally allowing his black temper to take a hold. Still no reply. Gendry stepped back and shoved the door, gauging how much force would be needed to break it down. The door was heavy wood, likely oak or similar, thick and reinforced with iron. For any ordinary man breaking down the door would be nigh on impossible, but Gendry was over seven foot of steely muscle.

Cursing her to hell and back, Gendry put his shoulder to the door, knowing that what he was about to do was going to hurt. A lot. But with no other choice to get in, for she had barred the door against him, Gendry pulled back and slammed his shoulder against the door. It groaned, and he heard the hinges pull away from the wall, screaming in protest of the force. Ignoring his smarting shoulder, he pulled back and took a couple of steps, and charged. The hinges gave way with another shriek of metal and wood, and the door fell into the room with a loud bang that shook the whole castle. Gendry raised his hand to his shoulder as he stepped into the room and past the door.

He knew the second that he entered that he would not find her in there, for the room was too still and silent, but still his eyes swept over the room. The fire was cold, but that was to be expected from her. The bed was not slept in, nor was there any sign of activity. The dress she had worn to the feast lay discarded on the floor. When Gendry picked it up he noticed that several of the laces were broken, and there were tears in the fabric. Gendry had lifted it to his nose and inhaled before he could stop himself, breathing in the scent of Arya. Like snow and cold air, like steel and leather and sweat. Something else, something uniquely Arya.

A sudden gust of warm wind hit him, and he looked up. The window was wide open. He dropped the dress and crossed the room to look out of the window. It was big, plenty big enough for a small girl to climb out of, but it would be madness. The fall was a long, long way down, onto a stone floor. But as Gendry looked the wall had many ridges, ledges and some yards below and to the side, part of a roof. She could have climbed, but it was risky; she would have to be either mad or desperate or both. Yet Gendry had no doubt that Arya had risked the dangerous descent.

With a sigh, he walked back across the room and to the guards. "You're shift is over, you've been guarding an empty room," he said shortly. The guards cringed away from him and he exhaled sharply. "Don't stand around doing nothing, you've already wasted a day doing that!" They looked at him blankly. "Go and notify the king that his sister is missing!" He snapped, walking back into the room.

He began to search her room, looking for any indication of where she might have gone, but appeared that she had taken nothing save for her sword belt and riding clothes. He looked through her trunk to see it was empty, though he doubted she had ever put anything in it to start with. The wardrobe was the same, and the desk contained nothing but empty parchment.

It was as if she had never even been there.

* * *

Arya wrinkled her nose as she entered the port town that was Duskendale, the smell of fish wafting on the warm breeze. She hated the smell of fish. It was a busy port, and pleasant if not for the unfortunate scent, and the buildings seemed in good repair. Astrid's shoes rang out on the cobblestones as Arya rode beneath the gates. The guards allowed her to pass without question, but regarded her with suspicion, and Arya could feel their eyes on her as she passed. Arya guessed that the town had known trouble in recent times, for the guards wore chain mail hauberks and carried sharp spears, and seemed constantly aware. The walls, she noted as she passed between them, were strong and thick, built with a strangely pale stone, that seemed to shimmer in the morning sun. As she passed through the streets Arya could see the tops of the Dun Fort, its squat walls built with large drum towers.

Arya had not been to Duskendale before, but she knew the stories it heralded; of king Aerys' capture there by Lord Denys Darklyn, and Barristan the Bold's victory. Lord Ryker ruled there now, but she didn't plan on seeing him. He was not why she was here. The Rosby Road that she had come along was safe enough, and even Arya had managed to pass along it without any trouble, but the road beyond Duskendale was dangerous, and bandits had taken to attacking the unaware and travel weary.

Arya followed the cobblestone roads, counting four septs within minutes. She rolled her eyes; a pious town then, with pious people. When would people learn? Arya had as a child. Arya did not doubt the septs were well known, and their riches would draw thieves. To the North Arya could see the rise of white chalk cliffs, and wondered if the stone from which the walls were built had some sort of chalk pigment; she doubted it though, for chalk was soft and crumbling, but the walls had seemed strong to her.

The gate house she had passed through opened onto a large market square, and even in the earliest hours of the morning people were sitting up shop. Arya didn't bother searching the faces, she knew that the person wouldn't be there. Arya dismounted in front of an inn and lead Astrid around the back to a small number of stables, a simple thatched roof shed, long with wooden partitions. Arya counted only two horses. A stable boy looked up at the sound of Astrid's hooves.

"You have space?" She asked, gesturing to the last two empty stables.

He put aside his pitch fork and wiped his hands on his britches, looking her up and down suspiciously. "You got gold?" He asked doubtfully, his green eyes turning wary as he saw her sword belt.

She reached into her pocket and drew out a small bag of coins. She took out two and tossed them at him; he caught them one in each hand. Arya let her lips curl in approval- the boy was clearly smart, and had good reflexes. He nodded, and Arya tossed another. "Tis too much," he said, but she shook her head.

"Look after her, and make sure she's still here when I get back," she warned, handing the reins over. He took them in strong hands, and made to lead her away, but the mare put her ears back and snapped at him. His reflexes kicked in and he jumped back in time. Arya smiled. "Watch her, she has a temper." He smiled at her, and she made her way to the inn, confident that he would take care of her.

The inn was the biggest one in the town, but still smaller than the Crossroads Inn or the Inn of the Kneeling Man. The ceiling was long and low, but the booths were full enough. Arya made her way to the bar, where a man with a lined face and scraggly brown beard was wiping a cup with a rag. She put a coin on the table. "You got any ale?"

"Aye," he said, and she waited while he got her a cup. He slid it across the table roughly, and some of it sploshed over the side. Arya took a gulp, and set it down while watching him. She had noted him watching her. _Good,_ she thought. _He pays attention_. She put another coin on the table, which he eyes suspiciously.

"I'm looking for someone," she started, and his eyes narrowed further. "An old dwarf woman."

The bar tender shrugged. "We've had one or two. You'll need to be more specific." Arya doubted that there had been more than one, if she had ever been there at all.

"Stooped, with long white hair, nearly touching the ground," she said. "May have had a gnarled black cane."

He nodded. "Aye, she was here not long ago," he said, sliding the coin in his pocket. "Word has it she's some sort of fortune teller. People say she been living in a cave in the chalk cliff." He looked her up and down scrutinizing her. "You want your future told girl? I wouldn't waste your gold. Talk has it that she's completely mad."

Arya smiled and finished the ale in three large gulps. "Thanks for the advice," she said. She passed another coin over. "If you would keep it quiet," she said, raising her brow. She didn't need word getting out that she was searching for a ghost.

Arya made her way out of the inn and contemplated whether she should get Astrid, but the way up to the cave would be no easy going for a horse, and Astrid was already exhausted from the escape. The mare would just keep going until she dropped or injured herself, so Arya made her way through the port town on foot. Underneath the scent of fish Arya could smell the salt of the sea, and the Blackwater. The southern heat was heavy and moist here, but the breeze coming in from the sea was cool, and Arya found the going easy.

Despite the town being spread out widely Arya made her way through with ease, and with the early hours most people who were up seemed to be heading to the market with either wares to sell or intent to buy. The town seemed to grow wealthier towards the northern end, the people she passed dressing finer, their bags of gold heavier, and in her rough blue shirt, brown breeches and leather boots, she found that she drew more stares from the wealthier merchants. Not to mention her sword belt; so far she had not seen anyone, save the guards, carrying weapons.

While the rest of the city was guarded by the thick walls, the southern and eastern side was covered with rocks that sheltered the town from the stormy winds that came across the Narrow Sea, and once Arya reached the edge of the buildings she began to climb over the rough terrain, glad that she hadn't brought Astrid, for the horse would never have been able to climb the rocks and rough ground.

After an hour or so Arya came across a fresh water spring, running down between the rocks and tough grass. She crouched beside it and cupped her hands to drink, thirsty after the long climb. When she was done she splashed some on her face to cool off, and stood up. The view of the sea was incredible that day; the Narrow Sea was oft grey and dull but the bright sun beating down on it had turned it a deep, rippling blue, shimmering waves in the yellow light.

As Arya began climbing again she began to think of what might be going on at the Keep. She didn't doubt that Jon was a mess, and Sansa had likely taken to some ladylike activity to take her mind off things. She wondered what Gendry would be doing; whatever it was, she just knew he would be in a foul temper. She couldn't help but smile; he truly was a Baratheon. _Ours is the Fury indeed_.

Thinking of the man caused her stomach to coil with tension. Arya felt different around him, happier somehow. While the man was oft short tempered, possessive and bull headed, he made her feel something, akin to the warm, yellow sunlight that was streaming down from the sky... _like home_ , she thought at the back of her mind. Arya hadn't had a real one since she was a child, but somehow being with Gendry felt like home. When he wasn't being an ass he was warm, and challenged her in all of the best ways, and the way he kissed her sent heat through her body, starting in her stomach and spreading to her finger tips.

As she hopped over a rock, Arya realised that she wanted more with him. Not marriage necessarily, but she wanted more time with him. The conclusion made her uncomfortable. Had she not just decided that she was a lone wolf? Destined to be alone and wandering for the rest of her life? Being alone and angry was comfortable, familiar... being with Gendry was different, new and strange... and good. When she had finished her business, Arya wondered if she would have a second chance with him.

She just hoped that Jon hadn't said anything to Gendry. She was sure that he wouldn't, not without speaking to her first... but if he had... she shook her head. Now was not the time.

Eventually Arya came up to the eastern edge of the cliff, so tall and white that it almost reminded her of the Wall, and she pressed her hand against the rough stone; it came away white and the dust had stuck to her sweaty palms. She walked a little ways along it, and there it was- a small entrance that Arya assumed led to a larger cave. Drawing Needle, Arya climbed through and allowed herself to drop the short distance down, her knees bending on impact.

The cave was dark, though several tallow candles burned, casting the rough walls in flickering shadows. The air was heavy and smelt of chalk, but other scents too,from the herbs and spices hung in bunches from the ceiling. Arya advanced into the cave, and found a ledge that had been dug into the rock, set with woolen blankets and furs. A few small bones littered the floor, and Arya swept them away with her foot in disgust.

"I knew that you would come here," a voice croaked from the darkness. Arya turned around slowly, her eyes rifling through the darkness. There, in the black shadows, she could see a shape. The shape moved and stepped forward. The dwarf looked even older than Arya remembered, withered and shrunk, her back more stooped than ever. Her hair was thinner and trailed down to her ankles, and Arya could smell her unwashed body.

"You know why I am here?" She asked, lowering her sword. The woman eyed the blade warily.

"I know why you have come, and I know what you will ask," she said, her voice thin and hoarse. "You have changed since I last saw you, Dark Heart, but you still reek of death."

"I have taken many lives," Arya said. The woman cackled twice, and Arya wondered if she had gone mad in the years since she had travelled with the Brotherhood. The dwarf woman stepped forwards again, closer to the light, and Arya could see the way grime and dust clung to the folds of her ancient skin, settled deep into the lines and creases, so many in their number that it only stood to testament of her age.

"And you will take many more," the dwarf woman prophesied. "I know why you have come," she repeated. "But before I tell you what you wish to know, you must promise me something in return." She stepped forwards again, her face clearer in the flickering light.

"What do you desire?" Arya asked, instinctively knowing it was not gold.

"The gift you were trained to give," the woman whispered.

Arya felt shivers down her spine at the woman's words. She had known what she would want the second she had demanded a price, but it was still disturbing to hear it said. "You wish for death," Arya stated.

"I wish for release," the woman said again, and as she talked Arya saw that the woman had only a handful of teeth left. "Swear it, and I will tell you what you wish to know."

Arya bit her lip. "I swear it," she said solemnly.

The dwarf nodded and stepped closer. Arya watched her as she took her wrist in her hand. She wanted to pull away, to leave this place and never return, but she needed to know. The dwarf flicked a nail and opened a small gash in Arya's skin, but she did not wince. She pressed a gnarled finger to the cut and then raised it to her lips, and sucked her finger clean. Arya swallowed.

The dwarf exhaled sharply and let go of her, stepping back. "You have taken your revenge on those who have wronged you, and your blade drips with their blood. Your sword will make the tower crumble, and the crow that swims will drown. Your heart, though black with death, already beats again, but whether you allow it is up to you. The path you choose will not be clear, and should you choose wrong your heart will turn to stone. Should the tall black mountain of revenge be what drives you, what should have come before will bleed. The storm is coming for you, and you must either run from it or embrace it. The choice is yours."

The cold words made no sense, and Arya wanted to curse the woman, who cackled so hard she bent over, the disturbing sound echoing around the cave. Her eyes seemed half wild, and she laughed louder, a chilling and sinister sound that made Arya feel like it was inside her head.

Arya whipped out Needle and stuck it in the old woman's heart. The woman stopped laughing, and her hands came to rest on the blade. "It's warmer than I thought," she whispered as she fell to her knees. "Like Jenny's laughter." Arya saw her eyes grow empty, and the candles suddenly guttered as her body went limp upon Needle.

Arya crouched and pushed her off of it. She touched two fingers to her brow. "Valar Morghulis," she whispered.

* * *

Arya blinked as she pulled herself back into the light outside of the cave. She breathed shakily and walked to the edge of the cliff, to look over the sea, the cold and musty smell of the cave still in her lungs. Even before Arya had put her sword through the dwarf's heart, the woman had reeked of death.

Her words had made no sense to Arya; the woman had clearly been deranged. Arya thought she must have been driven mad with grief long ago, and living alone in the dark of the cave, eating rats and the like had only made her worse. Arya didn't know who Jenny was, but whoever she was, she must have meant something dear to the dwarf.

The journey had been a waste of time, and Arya wanted to scream and shout and curse, but she didn't. Her face was a stone mask, but underneath she was in turmoil. What had it meant? The tower would crumble, a swimming crow, a stone heart, a black mountain, a storm... Arya shook her head. Surely they were nought but the ravings of a deranged old woman?

Arya sucked in a deep breath, and began to make her way back to the village, trying to put the words from her mind, but she couldn't, and found herself turning them over and over in her head. _The tower... the swimming crow... black heart beating... revenge made a stony heart... a black mountain of revenge... what should have come before would bleed... a storm that she must run from or embrace..._ it made no sense.

Arya found herself almost running, desperate to put a distance between herself and that cave that reeked of death, and made it back to the town in quicker time that she had on the previous journey. The streets were busier this time, and Arya found that she drew more looks than the last time, and no wonder why; she was sweaty and disheveled, and she was sure that the cave's atmosphere still clung to her skin and clothes and hair.

She marched back to the inn and around the back. The stable boy saw her, and smiled, not noticing the state she was in. "Your horse is fine," he told her, pitch fork in hand. "We don't usually get such fine and spirited ones as she though."

Arya nodded. "Aye, she is that," she concurred, moving to the stall. Astrid flickered her ears and whickered gently. Arya shushed her and stroked her neck gently, the familiar motion calming her peaked nerves.

"You don't have the looks of someone from around here," the boy said, coming up behind her. "What brings you here?" Arya didn't turn around, but continued stroking Astrid. The boy was no danger, though she supposed "boy" was not the correct word. He was taller than her, and looked a year older, faint shadows on his jaw that hinted at stubble. His thick and wavy blond hair hung in green eyes as he waited expectantly for an answer.

"Just to see an old friend," she said. "Passing through." He didn't need to know anything else. _A tall black mountain of revenge..._

"Oh, it's just that we don't see a lot of travelers in recent times," he said, but before he could illuminate there was a scream from the square, followed by another shout of alarm, and another. _And that's why_ , Arya thought, drawing her sword.

She edged to the gateway and peered out, cursing when she saw the scene. The cobblestones were slick with blood from the bodies cut down by the attackers, two guards dead at their post. Another was fighting, but Arya could tell his opponent would win, his strikes landing harder, faster. The attackers were dressed in mismatching armour, and the attack had no structure. _Bandits then_ , she decided.

When she turned around the stable boy was holding his pitchfork aloft, his face determined; it clearly wasn't the first time the town had been attacked. "Bandits," she said anyway. He nodded. "What's your name?"

"Olyvar, what about you?" His voice seemed confident, but underneath Arya could hear the fear.

"Cat," she said. "Do you know how to use a real blade?" He shook his head. "You'd best stick to that pitchfork then, but here-" she pulled a knife from her boot. "Just in case. And I want it back." She passed him the knife and he nodded, tucking it through the knot in his belt.

"What do they usually come for?" She asked. "How long?"

He appeared flustered. "Market days- that's why there were more guards today than usual. They don't stay long, just enough to take a few women and whatever gold they can carry." He spat on the ground in distaste.

Arya nodded. "How many fighting men will there be?" She asked. She would do what she could, she needed a fight, but she didn't have a chance against them with only Olyvar and his pitchfork.

"Us or them? We have up to forty who can fight, but Lord Ryker calls the guards up to defend the Dun Fort if there's an attack," he spat again angrily, and Arya could understand his fury at the Lord. The Lord should be affording his people protection, not barring the gate to them. "But the bandits won't engage unless attacked, they're only here to raid."

Arya nodded. Priority was to get the women and children to safety then. "Alright, come with me, and be careful. Don't fight unless you're attacked." The pitchfork looked sharp, but it would be nothing against a full sword or a spear. She ran swiftly to the wall and checked the way was clear, Olyvar steps behind her. A mother ran past, with her child clutched in her arms, a man chasing her. Arya stepped out of the shadows and attacked, her sword cutting through his rusted mail with ease. He turned around in shock, not having expected the attack, and then fell, blood gurgling from the wound.

Arya reached down and ripped off his helmet. "Here, put this on." She tossed it at Olyvar, who hesitated. "You need it more than I," she said, and he nodded. It was only a half helm, but it was better than nothing. She would give him the sword too, and the mail, but on further inspection the mail was so rusted it was about as much good as a slap around the ear, and the sword wasn't much better.

She motioned for him to follow again and pressed on into the yard. Spare for half a dozen corpses and about twice as many bandits the square was clear. Not so far away a woman was weeping as her attacker ripped at her skirts, her face swollen and bruised on one side. Arya crept up behind and Dark Sister cut through the sinew and flesh like it was water. He choked and fell the the floor.

"Run," she told the woman. The woman seemed frozen in shock, her eyes fixed on the body of her attacker. Arya grabbed her arm and pushed her towards the exit. " _GO," s_ he said again, more fiercely, and the women nodded and ran, her ripped skirts tangling around her legs.

Arya turned back to the scene and ran half crouched to a big stone trough, and crouched down behind it. Beats later Olyvar followed. She peered her head around the edge; there weren't as many as she had first thought- it was a wonder that the cowardly Lord hadn't sent his guards to kill them in their camp out where there Rosby Road went through the woods. Arya tried to count them, _five, six, seven over there... two more..._ It would be difficult, but she had faced worse odds before, but she didn't know whether Olyvar would be a help or a hindrance. Arya turned back to him.

"Are you sure they won't go into the town to attack?" She whispered. "They're just here for gold?" He nodded, and Arya chewed her lip. There was nothing she could do. "This isn't a fight we can win," she said. "If you're coming with me, go and get horses ready. I'll stay and see if I can learn anything." The boy nodded, and Arya peered around the corner again, her fist tightening around the hilt of her sword. "Now- _go now_!"

Olyvar stood up and darted to the archway they had come through and around the corner. Arya pressed her back to the stone trough and inhaled steadily. _Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow._ Arya looked around the corner of the trough again and felt her eyes widen at the sight.

A huge man, dressed head to toe in black armour. _He's taller than Gendry_ , she realised. She watched as one of the bandits walked over to him; the giant was clearly the leader. The bandit was talking to him, but the man in black was obviously ignoring him. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed the man, smashing his head against the wall, as easily as swatting an irritating fly. Arya swallowed. _He killed his own man, what will he do if he finds me?_

Arya prayed that Olyvar would be quick with those horses. She risked another look and jumped back; he was approaching, though not looking. Arya felt her stomach lurch and lay down on the ground and rolled into the gap beneath the trough. She couldn't fight this foe, not alone. The armour was clearly thick and strong, and even though valyrian steel cut through steel like flesh, and flesh like water, Arya was not about to risk it; the man was big enough that she thought he would be able to snap her neck with one hand.

Arya tried to still her breathing as he stopped on the other side of the trough. Her body was shaking with anticipation, her nerves buzzing. She could see his enormous feet, just inches away from her left hip. Arya thanked whatever Gods were up there that she was small enough to fit beneath the trough. She could hear him rustling, and then a splash of water, followed by a long slurp and heavy exhale. She swallowed. She was sure that her heart was beating loud enough for him to hear it, even through the full helm he wore.

 _Come on Olyvar._ She held her breath when he seemed to hesitate... but then he began to walk away, his metal armour clanking as he went. Arya exhaled... and gasped as something closed around her ankles, pulling her out roughly. Her head hit the edge of the trough and she felt warm blood begin to trickle and well on her skin. She clenched her fist around her sword, ready to stick it up through him, but as he pulled her out he simply wrapped his metal hand around the blade and yanked, pulling it straight out of her hand and tossing it to the floor.

Arya kicked his shin but he didn't even flinch at the blow. She rolled over, to scramble away, but his foot crashed down on her ribs. Arya heard a crack and wheezed and coughed as the air was sent gushing from her lungs. She reached for her sword, stretching, and grasped the hilt, just as he reached down. With a shout of effort she slashed at the back of his knees where there was no plate, and she heard the flesh slice open... but there was no blood. Arya breathed out in dismay, and before she could do anything he brought his foot down on her wrist.

Arya cried out in pain as she heard the recently healed bone shatter, and her hand flew open on reflex. He reached down and wrapped his hand around her neck, and picked her up like she weighed less than air. Arya opened her mouth gasping as she was lifted up and up, kicking her legs. Finally, her feet dangling miles off the ground, they were face to face. His face was covered by his helm, a black full helm with strange carvings in it, with only a gap exposing his eyes, which were a bright, bloody red.

Arya choked. _What kind of a monster is this?_ she thought. As her lungs begged for air, Arya reached down and grabbed her knife. He didn't even try to stop her as she plunged it into the space under his chin. She ripped the blade out and stuck it again, and again, and then his fingers tightened. Arya could feel her neck straining from the pressure, before he plunged her down, down into the trough.

Arya slammed her eyes shut as he pushed her beneath the water. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, her world was one of pain- his fingers tightened around her throat, and would not relent despite her scratches and hits. He held her down as easily as if he were drowning a kitten. She could feel her knuckles turn bloody from striking his armour, could taste in in the water as her face turned blue, and all she could think was _so this is how I die._

Arya could feel the life ebbing out of her, bubbles bursting from her lips. Through the water she could see his shape as he held her there, drowning. Her vision began to go even hazier, and his silhouette became her father. As she felt herself start to succumb a voice drifted across the back of her mind.

 _What do we say to the God of Death?_

Arya's body went limp in his hands.

 **... Please don't hate me! I know, I'm so horrible! Well, all I can say is that I hope you enjoyed it... a little? Just a smidgen? If you did, drop a review! Over and Out xoxox**


	29. The Bloody Hand

**DISCLAIMER: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE**

 **Okaaay then, last chapter left you guys in a terrible place! Mwah ha haaaa! I haven't much to say apart from I hope you all enjoy it, and here's the recap! Over and Out xoxo**

 **After Arya's escape, everyone at the Red Keep assumes she is shut in her room. Jon is going spare with worry, and Gendry goes to find her. When she refuses to open he breaks down the door... and she isn't in there. Meanwhile, Arya has made her way to Duskendale, a town that is often ravaged by unknown bandits living in the Rosby Woods. Arya learns from an inn keep that an old dwarf woman has been living in a cave in the Chalk Cliff. Arya makes her way there, and on the way acknowledges that she has feelings for Gendry. Arya finds the Ghost of High Heart Hill in her cave dwelling, where she has gone half mad. She says she will tell Arya what she wants to know if Arya promises to kill her, which Arya does. The woman drinks her blood and gives her a prophesy which Arya does not understand. Arya kills her, as promised, and heads back to the town feeling highly disturbed. She befriends a stable boy, just when the town is attacked by the raiders. Arya tells him to ready two horses. She sneaks out to see what is happening, and kills two of the bandits, thus saving two women and a child. As she is hiding Arya see's a huge and terrifying figure, heading towards her hiding place. Despite her attempts, he finds her. Arya cuts him and even stabs his throat multiple times, but it has no effect, and he plunges her into a trough of water, and unable to fight him, Arya starts to drown...**

* * *

Jon Connigton was a proud man, but he cringed as Samwell Tarly circled his bare torso with a metal rod. The second he had contracted Greyscale he had given in to the disease, preparing to end it before he became one of the monsters that he had gotten it from. He had never dreamed that the fat Maester in training would ignore his overseers orders and treat him anyway. The process had been agony, and had left his arms and torso covered in rough red and white scars that would never go away, but he was alive and of sound mind, and that was enough.

"I think that you're completely free of it," the fat man said, prodding his shoulder blade. "You're lucky; it seems we won't be sending you off anytime soon to live out your days with the stone men." He smiled and put down the rod. "You can put your shirt back on now."

Connigton nodded. "I will be forever in your debt, Grand Maester," he said honestly, though the treatment had been half a year ago now.

Tarly smiled at him, his chins wobbling. He passed a large jar full of thick green paste to him. "Remember to put it on, twice a day, every day. Morning and night." Connigton nodded, and Tarly smiled again before leaving the Lord of Griffins Roost's chamber.

Connigton stood up and put his shirt on as there was a knock at the door. He called them in, wondering what it was and how quickly he could get rid of them, but when he turned around his scowl vanished. "Your Grace," he said, bowing his head.

Aegon rolled his eyes. "You know that isn't necessary, Jon." He leaned against the table and noted his old friends state of dress. "I just saw Tarly on the stairs," he said. "Is everything alright? It hasn't come back?"

Jon shook his head as he tucked the shirt in and tightened his belt. "No, its all fine. Just have to make sure it stays that way." He shrugged on a jacket, emblazoned with his house sigil. "Have they found the girl yet?" He asked. The Lady Arya had been missing for two days now, and no one knew where she was. It seemed to be a habit of hers. When Aegon had told him what happened, Jon hadn't been surprised.

In his youth, Jon had known Lyanna Stark well, and the girl who called herself Cat was the spitting image of her; brown hair, long face and those haunting grey eyes. He had guessed the second that Aegon had brought her on the ship, but had said nothing. The girl would only have gotten hurt or killed if he took her with them to war, and Loarth was a peaceful place, quiet and out of the way; he had hoped that when the war was over, should they win, he would go back and find her there. She would have been a good match for Aegon.

But when he had heard of the Sacking of Lorath, he had never guessed she might have survived it. He had wished he had brought her with them to Griffins Roost, but alas, he hadn't, and there was nothing he could have done to change that. He had never mentioned any of this to Aegon, for he had known how the impulsive boy would react to the news.

Even now, Jon could see the boy cared for her, even though she wasn't an orphan called Cat but an orphan with the name of Stark. Not for the first time, he thought it was a shame she was betrothed to that Baratheon Lord; Aegon was clearly fond of the girl, and she would have been a strong match for him. Jon could only pray to the Old Gods and the New that history would not repeat itself.

"No," that Targaryen King said, his voice bitter. "The moment Lord Baratheon broke down her door and found her chambers empty Jon had his guards out searching for her."

Jon frowned. It should never have been possible for her to leave the Keep, let alone the whole city. There was something about the girl that he just didn't trust though; something about her was unsettling, even though people seemed to love her. The city was rife with the news of Lady Arya's rescue of the boy the Gold Cloak brutalized. Everywhere from Flea Bottom to the Fish Market people were talking of it. The nobles seemed to like her too, and those that didn't admitted she was beautiful. _So was Lyanna, and see what happened._

"Well, let us hope she is found soon," Jon said, smiling at the king, whilst thinking that perhaps it was better for everyone if the girl stayed missing this time.

* * *

Arya allowed her body to go limp in his hands, hoping it was not too late. She allowed her hands to fall from his wrist, and her struggling to cease.

 _Not today._

 _This is not how I die_ , she told herself, even though her lungs screamed for air and the water was pink with her blood. One, two, she counted, three. Arya knew how to be patient; she had waited years and years to exact her revenge on the Freys and all of the others... but this was different. The not knowing, the waiting to die. But just as she started to feel it was hopeless his hand loosened from her neck, and then it was gone. She could still see him staring down at her from above, so she did not move, even though her vision grew smaller with every second.

Eventually he stepped back. Arya couldn't take it anymore. She flew up, sending water slopping over the edges. She breathed in a deep and shuddering breath, then again. She saw him go to grab her again, and she sprang forwards, standing up in the water, and plunged her knife through the slit in his helm. She screwed her eyes shut as she did, dizzy, confused, like she was there but she was also running, running very fast with a pack at her heels, growling and snapping.

The black knight screamed, a cursed sound that Arya thought made her ears bleed, and as he did so there was a shout from the gate. Arya looked up and felt her heart swell with relief. There, snapping and snarling in the middle of the market, was Nymeria. She was flanked by a pack of wolves, who rushed past her and began the attack.

Arya almost forgot about her foe, and dodged his hand just in time as he slashed after her with the knife, having yanked it from his eye socket. Arya leapt out of the trough and darted around the edge, bending and scooping up Dark Sister. "Nymeria," she shouted, and the dire wolf sprinted towards her. Arya met her in the middle, and, ignoring her screaming hand, swung herself up onto the wolfs back.

Everywhere, wolves and men, fighting, dying. The Black Knight was storming towards her, and suddenly there was a rush of hooves on the cobblestones as Olyvar galloped through the gates on Astrid. "GO!" She screamed at him, and he nodded. Arya leaned down low over Nymeria's head and the wolf snarled before leaping into action. Arya could feel the wolf's back moving at extraordinary speed beneath her hips, air whooshing in and out of her giant lungs. They cleared the gates in seconds, Olyvar on Astrid, as they left the carnage behind them.

Arya urged the wolf to keep running, on and on and on, until even Astrid began to tire out and lag behind. She had to know there was distance between her and the bandits. As they ran the thought whirled around her head. Who had they been- who was that enormous man in black armour? He was the Mountain that Rides incarnate, she was sure, though Gregor Clegane had been dead for many a year.

Whoever, and whatever, that thing had been- Arya hadn't seen many things that had scared her as much as he did. _A black mountain of revenge._ Those had been the dwarf's words. Was that what she had meant?

Eventually even Nymeria began to tire, and Arya conceded that they were as far away as they were going to get without dropping dead, and dusk was nearly upon them. She waited until the giant wolf stopped and jumped off. She cried out with pain on landing, her ribs flaring up in agony. She pushed herself up and threw her arms around Nymeria's neck. "Thank you, girl," she whispered, and she was sure she could see understanding in the she wolfs eyes. She breathed in the scent of her fur before pulling away.

Olyvar had dismounted, and was holding Astrid's reins, which were slick with sweat; the grey horse was no longer heaving, but her body was trembling and covered in white froth, sweat running down her face. "We can't risk a fire," Arya said. If the wolves had left any alive they would be searching for revenge, and Arya knew deep down, despite her hopes, that the Black Knight had survived.

Olyvar stared at her, and Arya knew the state she must be in; soaking wet from head to toe, her hair and clothes plastered to her body. Her head stung, and when Arya brought her fingers away they were coated with blood. She had had worse, but she knew it needed treating. She sighed and ripped a strip from her shirt, knowing she would look half dead when they got back to the Red Keep. She wrapped the strip around her head and tied it tightly, wishing she had more to bind her ribs and wrist.

"You're Arya Stark of Winterfell," Olyvar said suddenly, appearing speechless. Arya nodded; what was the point in denying it? She had literally just ridden leagues on the back of a giant dire wolf.

"Aye," she said. "I am. You don't happen to have any food do you?" Arya wasn't hungry, but food would settle both of their nerves. He shook his head.

"No- milady- I don't," he stuttered. "They were already in the inn- milady what happened?"

Arya shook her head. "You don't need to call me that," she said. "Arya is fine. You saw that Black Knight?" He nodded.

"He was a monster," he said, his voice weak. "I've never seen him before."

Arya looked up; that was interesting. "You're sure? You've never seen him?"

He shook his head. "If I had I wouldn't have forgotten him," he said, moving to loosen Astrid's saddle. "I think the bandits were different too; usually they don't have so much armour, and they don't kill so many people." Arya bit her lip. Who were these men? Who was their leader?

She sighed. "I'll take first watch," she offered wearily. "Get some sleep, we'll be riding all day tomorrow."

He looked up as he tied Astrid to a tree. "Where are we going?"

"Kings Landing," she yawned. "You ever been?" He shook his head. "Then you're lucky. Get some sleep." Arya watched him hesitate and smiled gently. "Nymeria won't do anything," she promised, but he still appeared unsure.

"Milady, maybe I should take first watch," he said, and Arya nearly rolled her eyes. He saw her expression. "You're injured, you ought to rest," he argued stubbornly. Arya chewed her lip; it had been a long time since she slept. She tried to remember when she had; three night ago? She was tired, she admitted to herself.

She nodded. "Alright," she agreed and he relaxed. "You have to wake me if something happens though."

"I will."

Arya hesitated, and then sat down, leaning against a tree. Nymeria padded over and sniffed Arya's face before lying down beside her, her side pressed against Arya's body. Arya leaned against the wolfs body, absorbing her warmth, and running her fingers through her thick fur. The last thing she heard before she went to sleep was the howling of a pack of wolves in the distance.

She dreamed of swimming crows and big mountains, and then her dreams changed and she was surrounded by growling and snarling and snapping of her own kind...

* * *

"You have no idea where she went!" Jon snapped as Gendry buckled on his sword belt. "How on earth do you propose to find her?"

Gendry sheathed his sword. "I have to try," he said firmly, and Jon cursed. Gendry was about to point out that Jon had been all up for it the morning before when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Jon snapped. Samwell Tarly waddled in, his maester's chains swinging around his thick neck. Jon calmed down when he saw him. "Sam, what is it?"

Samwell shut the door behind him. "We just had news that Duskendale has been put to the torch," he said weakly. "The fire was quenched, but considerable damage was done before the fire was stopped."

Gendry span around. "Where did you say?" He asked, paling. Duskendale, the Ghost of High Heart... Dark Heart. The phrase reverberated around his skull.

"Duskendale," Sam repeated. "Three leagues north east of here."

Jon noticed Gendry's expression. "What is it?" He asked, stepping closer, and Gendry turned to face him.

"The night of the feast I told Arya that someone we knew was there," he said, every muscle in his body tensing. "The Ghost of High Heart Hill. Arya seemed so surprised when I told her, but I thought she just was surprised that the woman was still alive." He swallowed. "Daenerys said the girl in the crowd was called Dark Heart... years ago, the Ghost of High Heart called Arya that. Dark Heart."

Jon tightened his fists, his face growing dark. "Do you think... mayhaps Arya went there to find her."

"Aye," Gendry said. "I'll ride there now, with my best men." He didn't even acknowledge Sam as he stalked past him, his hand pausing on the door as Jon called his name. He turned around. "Jon, you may be the king, but you can not stop me from going to her," he said, his voice brokering no argument.

Jon shook his head. "I'm not stopping you," he said, "but I'll come with you, and Aegon will wish to be there too." Gendry hesitated and then nodded. He couldn't stop Jon from wanting to ride to his sister, but Gendry didn't know Aegon well, and he trusted him less.

"I'll meet you in the yard in the hour," he said, before leaving the room.

* * *

"Milady, wake up." Arya woke up suddenly, her hand flying to her knife as she sat up, the growling of wolves still echoing in her ears.

Olyvar was crouched in front of her, his face relieved. "I was worried," he said as she stood up, but Arya didn't reply. It was light.

"It's morning," she said out loud, turning to look at him with irritation. "You didn't wake me," she accused him.

He frowned. "You needed to sleep, milady, and besides," he blushed, "I could never have slept anyway."

Arya nodded; his home town had been attacked right in front of him after all. She wandered to the edge of the hill, searching to see what was happening. She frowned; black smoke rose up to the sky in the distance, right from where Duskendale should be. "What happened?" She asked, bewildered. Who would have done that?

He shrugged. "The fire started shortly after you fell asleep, but they didn't last long." He looked at her strangely. "You were howling in your sleep, you know."

Arya chewed her lip. "It's been known to happen," she said, turning around. Nymeria was watching them from the tree; that was strange. Arya only howled when she had warged into Nymeria, but the dire wolf was right here. She shook her head. "Come on, we ought to go," she said. "It will take the rest of the day to get to Kings Landing, and we ought not linger any longer." He nodded, and went over to Astrid.

As he tightened her girth, Arya went to Nymeria and stroked the grey and tawny she-wolfs forehead. "I'm glad you're here, girl," she whispered, "But you need to go. Go and find your pack." The she-wolf stood up and sniffed Arya's face before turning around and disappearing into the trees. Arya watched after her sadly, wishing she could stay, but Nymeria would be no happier in Kings Landing than she was. Besides, the city was no place for a dire wolf. As Arya watched though, she got the feeling that it wouldn't be the last time she saw the wolf.

She sighed and turned around to face Olyvar who was holding Astrid's reins. "It's a shame you couldn't bring two horses," she said, walking over. Olyvar looked confused.

"What about your wolf?" He asked.

Arya shook her head. "The south is no place for a dire wolf," she said. "Do you want to ride front or back? You'll have to do the bulk of the riding, I can't use my hand properly." Her wrist had swelled up in the night, and turned black with bruises. Arya knew her face was in no better condition. Olyvar swung up into the saddle and offered her his hand. She climbed up behind him, and Astrid moved off.

As they rode Arya's thoughts turned back to the Ghost of High Heart Hill. She wondered what had lead to her leaving the hill, and how she had come to living alone in a cage, eating rats and the like. _No wonder she had asked to die_ , Arya thought. They had been riding for two hours, when Arya told him to pull up.

"What is it milady?" he asked her, but she shushed him. There it was again, hoof beats. Arya didn't know where they were coming from, but there was definitely more than one.

"Horses," she said. He stiffened in front of her. "Move into the trees, now." He turned Astrid's head and trotted her swiftly off the path and into the shadows. Arya waited, her hand on her sword. Whoever it was, Arya knew they were in no position to fight them, and sharing a horse they had no hope of out running them. Arya hoped they were friends and not foe, or at least just farmers.

The hoof beats grew louder, and Arya was sure that they were coming from the south; the thought did not put her at ease. Though the bandits were likely to come from the northern side of the track, it was possible they had come a different way. If what Olyvar had said was true, about the raiders being different to usual, it was also possible that these riders were the first lot. Arya ran through their possibilities in her mind; best case scenario, the riders were friends, worst case, it was the Black Knight. Hopefully whoever they were wouldn't see her and Olyvar in the trees.

"Go further in," she whispered, and he nodded, spurring Astrid on, until the track was barely visible. Soon enough the riders came into view; twenty or thirty men at most, all on horse and all armed. None of them wore any sigils or house colours. _Bandits then,_ Arya thought. The riders didn't seem to notice them, and Arya let out a breath of relief- and then suddenly there was an whoosh of air and a thud as an arrow cut through a tree, burying itself up to the feathers.

"Who's lurking in those trees?" Came a shout, and Arya found herself transported to another time, long ago.

 _"What if that's some honest man back there? Or some poor woman with a babe at her breast?"_

 _"An honest man would come out and show us his face. Only an outlaw would skulk and hide."_

 _"Aye, that's so. Go on and loose your shafts then."_

 _Arya sprang to her feet. "Don't!"_

Arya relaxed and swung off of Astrid's back. She knew that voice. "Where are you going?" Olyvar hissed.

"Just stay here," she said, and she could see him debating whether to stop her, obey her or come with her. "Trust me." She turned and walked away, listening to make sure he didn't follow her. She made her way through the trees and stepped onto the track.

"Anguy you really should be careful with that buggering bow," she said, scowling as the archer came into view.

"Arya!" Arya turned, looking for the person that had said her name. She smiled, her heart swelling in her chest. He had already vaulted off of his horse, and before Arya could so much as say his name he pulled her up into his arms. "Don't you ever do that to me again," Gendry said, lifting her into the air. His arms crushed her ribs and she yelped. He set her down hurriedly, looking over her in concern. His eyes fell on her make shift bandage. He swore, and Arya shook her head.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she said.

"What happened?" He asked, and then his face turned stern and his grip on her shoulders tightened, though he didn't dare shake her with her injuries. "Where did you go?" He asked. "You had us worried sick- I mean it, Arya, never dare to go off like that again!"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Later, alright?" She grumbled. "For now, just accept that I'm fine." He was clearly not convinced and not at all happy, but Arya was saved by a cough from behind. "Jon?" Gendry let her go and stepped to the side so that she could embrace her brother.

More carefully than Gendry, Jon wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so sorry." Arya rather got the feeling he was apologising for more than one thing, but she said nothing apart from "it's alright." He inhaled her smell shakily and then let go of her. Someone cleared their throat to the side, and Arya smiled.

"Griff," she greeted.

"Cat." He looked her up and down. "I must say, you look terrible." Arya laughed.

"Aye, I suppose I do a bit," she concurred, her hand going to her forehead. Then she remembered. "It's alright, " she called. "They're friends."

Gendry stepped forwards and took her elbow gently, as if she were made of glass. "Who's that?" He asked, as Olyvar emerged from the trees.

"A friend," she said. "He escaped Duskendale with me- Gendry, there was an attack, bandits-"

"We know, Sam got a raven," he said. "When I heard about it it made me remember the-" he narrowed his eyes. "Arya, why were you in Duskendale?" Arya kept her face relaxed.

"Not now," she said quietly. Gendry didn't need to know what had happened, but she would come up with a reasonable story on the way back to Kings Landing. "Gendry, I think we were attacked by your bandits- I mean, the bandits from the Storm Lands."

Gendry's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to ask her what she meant, but Jon put his hand on her shoulder.

"Come on," he said, "We need to get you back; that looks nasty," he said gesturing to her cut. "We don't have a spare horse-"

"She'll ride with me," Gendry said firmly. Arya did not argue, instead smiling at Jon when Gendry led her to Rogue. He lifted her up into the saddle and she winced. His face creased with concern. "What's wrong?" He asked, searching for any sign of a wound.

Arya shook her head. "I'm fine, I just need to bath and rest." Gendry looked doubtful, but he didn't question her, and swung up into the saddle behind her. Jon rode his own horse over.

"I'm going to carry on to Duskendale, see what I can do," he said. "Make sure Arya doesn't get into anymore trouble."

Gendry nodded. "Take the men- we'll be fine."

Jon nodded. "I'll be be back by the morning," he said. Arya reached over and put her hand on his arm.

"Jon be careful," she said. "Those men were dangerous." He regarded her carefully, and nodded.

"I will be, little sister," he said. "When I come back I don't want to see you fighting in the yard, though, alright? You need to rest." He said it sternly, and Arya almost rolled her eyes. She was _fine._

"Your Grace?" Jon turned around in the saddle. Olyvar looked weary on Astrid's back, but he spoke clearly. "I could come with you, if it would help, show you what happened."

Jon raised his brow and nodded. "That would be good, Olyvar, thank you." He looked at Arya. "Do you want your horse, if Olyvar is coming back with us?"

Arya contemplated for a second. The blow to her head had left her dizzier than she would admit, and her wrist was painful... but she would manage, she was sure. She shook her head anyway. "No, you take her," she told Olyvar. "Just make sure she comes back, alright?" He nodded, and Jon shared a look with Gendry that Arya could not interpret.

"I'll see you on the morrow," he said again, before turning and leading the men off towards Duskendale. Arya sighed and leaned against Gendry's chest, absorbing his heat. Gendry spurred on Rogue.

They rode in silence for a while, and then he asked what she knew he would. "What happened, Arya?" His voice was wracked with concern, guilt laced into every word.

Arya yawned. "Later, Gendry," she said, suddenly exhausted. She closed her eyes, and the constant rocking movement lulled her to sleep, but before darkness claimed her, she thought she felt him press a kiss to her hair.

* * *

Jon surveyed the devastation with dark eyes, his face falling at the scene. Though the fire didn't seem to have spread before it could do too much damage, thick white ash drifted across the ground in the breeze. Bodies lay littered across the ground, and market stalls were being tidied up by weary men and women.

"Where were the guards?" He asked, wondering how a city could have so few guards that some wild bandits could cause such havoc.

Olyvar frowned. "Lord Ryker calls them up to the Dun Fort whenever there is an attack, so we're pretty much left to defend ourselves," he said bitterly. Jon frowned; the Lord had those guards in order to protect his people, not his castle. He would have to have words with him about it.

"Walk me through what happened," he said, swinging off his horse. Olyvar did the same and lead him across the burned market to the Inn. The door had been kicked down, but inside seemed safe enough; glass was smashed everywhere, and there was blood on the floor, but there were no dead bodies.

Olyvar led him through to a yard out back. "I was working when Lady Arya brought her horse here," he recounted, looking at the scene sadly. The yard was a tip, and part of the stable was smoking. "She told me to make sure she was there when she got back, and then went into the inn." They stepped back inside. Jon bent down to pick up a jug, and set it on the table.

"We're closed," came a grumpy voice from the doorway behind the counter. A weary looking man walked through, with a lined face and a brown going grey beard. He watched them with wary eyes until he recognised Olyvar and smiled. "I thought you were dead, boy, how in seven hells did you escape?"

Olyvar smiled. "I'm fine sir, how is your wife?" The man nodded, and then looked at Jon.

"Who is this?" He asked, suspicious again. Jon stepped forwards before Olyvar could say anything.

"Did you speak to a girl yesterday?" He asked, leaning against the counter. "Sixteen, brown hair and weapons."

The man eyed him suspiciously. "Aye, I did. A strange girl."

"What did she want?" Jon asked, ignoring the slight towards Arya.

The old man shrugged. "Came in asking where she could find some dwarf woman," he said. "I told her where she was, and not to bother looking for her, but she left and gave me a coin for my silence. I suppose I ought to give it back if I ever see her again." He frowned. "Who are you? Who was she?"

Jon didn't smile. "I'm her brother," he said simply. "Where did she go after that?"

The man nodded at the door. "Left for the chalk cliff I imagine, seemed intent on finding the dwarf." Jon nodded and left the inn, Olyvar at his side. When Arya had first said the mans name, Jon had been surprised; the name reminded him somewhat uncomfortable of the young boy from the Nights Watch.

"How do we get to the Chalk Cliffs?" He asked.

Olyvar looked doubtful. "It's a long way," he said. "Lady Arya was gone for hours. It's the other side of the city and then an hour or so climb over rocks. Do you want me to show you?"

Jon hesitated. There wasn't time. "No, it's alright," he said. "I'll send someone down. What happened when Arya came back?"

Olyvar swallowed, remembering where he had left off. "She came back for her horse, when we heard the screaming. She looked over the wall and knew they were bandits straight away. She gave me this," he said, showing Jon the knife. Jon recognised it; it was the one Arya had nearly buried in his face when he walked into her room. "She told me we should try to save to women and children, and to follow her."

He walked up to a body and nudged it with his boot. "This one was chasing after a mother with a babe at her breast. Arya killed him and gave me his helm." Jon could see where Arya's sword had pierced the chain mail. It was strange, looking at a dead body and knowing that Arya had been the one to deliver the final blow. He followed Olyvar back to the market square. "She killed that guy too, he was raping a woman." He glared at the corpse. "She ran and hid behind that trough, so I followed. She told me to go and ready the horses while she stayed to see what she could learn about them." Jon frowned; that sounded like Arya alright. Putting herself in danger for absolutely no reason.

"What happened then?" He asked.

Olyvar paled. "I didn't see all of it, but she was found," he said, his voice weak. "The man... I've never seen anyone so big. He must have been half a giant, I swear, eight foot tall and five men across the chest. But..." he shook his head. "Lady Arya stabbed him, several times, and he didn't even seem to feel the blows until she buried the knife in his eye."

Jon creased his brow and walked over to the trough. The water was pink with blood. On the ground was a knife. He bent and picked it up; it was Arya's, one he had seen her bury into a bed post across the room, not even looking. He turned back to Olyvar. "What do you mean? She stabbed his armour?"

The stable boy shook his head. "No, right beneath the chin, I saw it. It did nothing. But when she stabbed him in the eye... he screamed, but it didn't sound human." The blond boy paled and shook his head. "And then... it was so queer. Suddenly there were all of these wolves, an army of them, led by a massive she wolf. They came in and started attacking the bandits- only the bandits, and not anyone else. Then Lady Arya climbed onto the big one, and we left. They put the square to the torch later, at night."

Jon stiffened at the mention of the wolves. The dire wolf must have been Nymeria, but the others... Jon knew Arya was a warg, but how did that explain the other wolves? Surely they didn't come in just because Nymeria did? If they had, why kill only the bandits, and not every man? Jon shook his head. He could only think of one explanation, but it sounded ridiculous even in his own head. He turned to Olyvar. "Thank you," he said, and sighed. "I must needs have a word or two with Lord Ryker. Will you be staying here?"

The boy looked around. "If you don't mind, your Grace, I'll come back with you to Kings Landing, see if I can find some work there. There is nothing for me here." He seemed sad at the state of the square, but not as much as one would expect. Jon got the feeling the boy didn't live here long.

He shook his head. "Of course; I'm sure we can find you some work at the stables in the Red Keep. The work isn't glamouress but it's good enough."

Olyvar blinked, and then bowed. "Thank you, your Grace," he stuttered. Jon smiled, and turned away. The boy deserved it after he helped Arya. Jon checked the sky to see the sun; not even midday. He had time.

He turned back to Olyvar. "Perhaps we could go to the caves after all."

* * *

Gendry shifted the sleeping girl in front of him gently, not wanting to jolt her awake by accident. When he had first seen her he had barely recognised her, for she looked like a walking corpse. Her clothes were damp, and her hair was a tangled mess; a bloodied blue strip of fabric, which Gendry assumed was ripped from her shirt, was wrapped around her forehead, but did little to conceal the bruising. Dried blood crusted down the right side of her face and smeared across her cheek, making the other side seem deathly pale. There were large black and purple bruises all around her throat, and her lips seemed to have a blue tinge to them. She had limped through the trees and the way she had winced at every touch, though she tried to hide it, made him suspect her ribs were sore as well.

Gendry didn't know what had happened, but he did know that he wanted to kill the bastard that had done this to her.

Arya was a formidable opponent; there was no denying it. For someone that didn't already know her she was even more dangerous, for they would be certain to underestimate her on account of her size and sex. Gendry knew how skilled she was, but he rather got the feeling there was more to it than that. Gendry had fought many dangerous foes in his time, and he knew what danger felt like- but the aura that Arya emitted... it was different somehow. Sinister.

The reason for her skill was somewhat more clear now, now that her past time as a fighting slave was no longer a secret. Gendry had never met one, but to survive in those pits a person had to be not only ruthless and skilled, but better than every other opponent they faced, who had the same level of skills. Daenerys had said Arya was famous across Slavers Bay for her sheer number of victories.

So what kind of a foe had she been facing that had managed to do this to her?

Gendry looked down as Arya began to stir in his lap; he had been surprised by how easily she had agreed to riding with him, especially when Astrid became free to ride. She had seemed to relax against him faster, too; the first time she had ridden pillion with him he had been forced to hold on to her lest she throw herself off sideways. Yet now she had allowed him to lift her up and put her sideways in the saddle, and then had relaxed against him without trying to bargain for control of the reins. Gendry felt a small smile lift his lips upwards.

She stirred again and he knew she would wake soon, likely objecting to sitting in his lap. But Gendry liked the feel of her, tucked up against him, head resting gently on his chest, rocking slightly with each step Rogue took. It was even nicer to see her starting to let her guard down around him; two months ago she would never have dreamed of sitting with him, fast asleep. She would have been cursing and cussing, wriggling and stiff as a board. Likely trying to stick a knife between his ribs. But now...

Gendry knew that she had warmed up to him- not just for the lack of trying to bury a knife in his eye, but her willingness to be around him. The glances that she cast him when she thought he wasn't looking, and the pink blush that would creep across her cheeks when he caught her. And of course, the kisses. Not that they had kissed often, but when they did... well, Gendry was hard pushed to stop.

Her big grey eyes, so full of distrust and passion, the way she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. Her long, athletic legs wrapping around her horse when she rode, and the elegant curve of her body when she practised with her sword; the slope of her thigh to the curve of her hips. The dip at her waist where she tucked her shirt into her breeches. Her strong, extended arm and the curve of her wrist. Her long, dark, thick hair, pulled back into a loose braid and tied at the end with whatever she could find. Her face a still and focused mask, letting nothing through... until she was angry. And Gendry had noted how with Arya, it went one of two ways. One time she would be like fire, wild and untamed, scorching in her fury. Another time she would be distant, cold, as if she were carved out of ice. Gendry found both utterly breathtaking.

As much as he loved her though, he couldn't help but wonder if others did too. He had noticed her easy greeting with Aegon, and the way the king had smiled at her so confidently, so familiarly, Gendry had found himself clenching his fists in hot jealousy. He had also noticed the way Arya's smiles seemed to come easy around the Targaryen. He wondered for a moment if something had happened between Arya and Aegon on that boat, when both of them had been different people. An uneasy feeling of distrust grew in his stomach, and he struggled to squash it down. She had said that she had never... but what if she had lied? She lied about everything, and Gendry was certain that Aegon was exactly the type to lure young girls in. The very thought of it set him hot with anger again, and he ground his teeth together. Aegon was too familiar with Arya, that was certain. He would have to try and keep her away from... though knowing Arya if he told her his concerns she would throw them in his face and show off that she knew how to look after herself. He sighed, and watched as his breath made her hair flutter slightly.

She stirred again, and he could see the way her thick eyelashes fluttered, her lips pulling apart in a soft sigh. Gendry wanted to wrap her up and worship her... but he also wanted to shout and yell and curse her. She pushed every limit, broke every rule, danced with death. She challenged him, and it enthralled him. She was utterly irresistible.

This time he was sure she was waking, as she shifted and her hand twitched towards her sword belt, her brow pulled low. Then suddenly she was awake- like one moment she had been fast asleep, and the next she was ready to fight a battle. An old veterans habit. She pulled away from his chest and looked up at his face.

"Oh," she said, blinking. "I fell asleep." It appeared to Gendry as though the thought troubled her. Her confusion over falling asleep reminded him of another time, and he smiled.

 _Gendry turned his eye back to Arya and her horse. The young girl was clearly exhausted, but she wouldn't admit it. He could understand though; the idea of being discovered, waking up to see Vargo Hoat standing over them with Shagwell the Fool and Faithful Urswyck and Rorge and Biter and Septon Utt and all of his other monsters... but still, even though Gendry knew he could keep going through the night, Arya and Hot Pie were children. Even if Arya wouldn't admit it._

 _As he watched her Gendry thought something was off about the way she held herself, and the horse seemed to be wandering as it liked. Then the horse put her head down, and started to nibble at a tuft of grass._ She's asleep, _he realised. He dismounted and hobbled his horse to a tree before catching her horse's reins and shaking her arm. She didn't stir, and Gendry realised not for the first time how young she truly was. He shook her arm again and she woke, peering blindly around in the darkness until her mind cleared and she saw him._

 _"You were asleep," he told her._

 _She blinked and shook her head. "I was just resting my eyes."_

 _"You were resting them a long while then. Your horse was wandering in a circle, but it wasn't until she stopped that I realized you were sleeping. Hot Pie's just as bad, he rode into a tree limb and got knocked off." He hoped the words might reassure her, but her face was still wary. "You should have heard him yell. Even that wasn't enough to wake you up." He took her skinny, childish wrist in his strong hand and squeezed. "You need to stop and sleep."_

 _She shook her head, and he could see her trying to pretend that she wasn't tired. He wondered who she was trying to fool, him or herself. "I can keep going as long as you can," she said, though her yawn betrayed her words._

 _Gendry nearly shook his head; for all she liked to call him an idiot, that was stupid, and she knew it too. She was a skinny nine year old, and he a man grown almost. "Liar," he told her. "You keep going if you want to be stupid, but I'm stopping." He knew that the only way to get her to stop was if she thought he needed rest too. "I'll take the first watch. You sleep." He said the words firmly, certain that she would argue, but he could see her thinking about it, weighing it up._

 _"What about Hot Pie?" She asked, still reluctant. Gendry gestured to a lump on the ground._ _The boy had curled up on a pile of leaves in the same spot where he had fallen, not even bothering to hobble his horse._ Idiot. The horse would have gone off in the night, and then what? _The boy had lost weight on their journey, but he was still too fat to share. It would have meant either taking it in turns to ride, in which case Gendry was certain that it would be him or Arya walking more oft than not, or Gendry and Arya would have to share. Either way, the going would be slower. The boy was a liability, and was slowing them down- he had since the start. With a small pang of guilt Gendry remembered trying to persuade Arya to leave him behind, when they had still had Lommy and Weasel with them, but Arya wouldn't hear of it. He supposed both of them were his responsibility now._

 _He looked back up at Arya, who was chewing her lip. It was plain that the girl was reluctant to stop, but she saw the sense in his words. Gendry felt a pang of sadness for her then; as small as she had been when they first met, she was even skinnier now, skin and bone. Her hair had grown out from where Yoren had cut it off roughly with a knife, and her clothes were more holes than fabric. It was a big change from living in a castle. The girl was resilient, he would give her that._

 _He held her horse while she climbed off, and he could see that even that was difficult for her. He wished that she wouldn't push herself so hard, and he could see her punishing herself for every little thing that went wrong. She took the reins and hobbled her horse, and Gendry did the same with Hot Pie's, before sitting down against a tree for his watch._

 _Arya seemed to debate whether to lie down alone, or to lie near him._ For body warmth or for comfort? _He wondered. She chose the former, and curled up, her knees pulled to her chin. He heard her whispering that list of hers again, the one she had started so long ago. He found it somewhat morbid to be honest, but it seemed to help her at any rate. He sighed and listened as her breathing immediately deepened and thought to himself that he would do everything he could to make her safe again._

Gendry ducked under a low branch, his head and neck curling over Arya's smaller frame. "You must have been tired," he remarked. "You fell asleep almost straight away. You can rest soon though, we're almost at Kings Landing." It would be less than twenty minutes before they were there, and Gendry knew she would need to see a maester immediately. He didn't like the look of that head wound.

"I don't need to rest," she said confidently. "I'm fine."

Gendry rolled his eyes. It seemed that not everything had changed after all. "Well, you're at least seeing a maester," he said, hoping that it might help her to see sense. Sam was nice too, even if he was somewhat timid. And if she preferred there was another maester too, one Jon had brought with him from the North.

Arya froze. "I don't need a maester," she said loudly, sitting up straight.

Gendry pulled her back against him. "You'll fall of if you do that," he warned. "And you are seeing a maester, whether you like it or not. Don't think I didn't see you wincing earlier, and I don't like that wound." He plucked at the bandage to try to see what it covered, but she slapped his hand away impatiently.

"I told you," she said firmly, "I'm fine. I know how to make poultices anyway."

Gendry grit his teeth together as he turned Rogue down a sharp bend. The trees died away and the path to the City was clearer now, wider. "I don't give a fuck if you can make poultices or not," he growled, "And I will bloody well drag you to that maester if I have to, but you will see him, and that is final."

She growled under her breath. "Make me," he heard her mutter, and he exhaled sharply.

"I will," he said firmly, in a tone that brokered no argument. "If you won't go willingly I'll throw you over my bloody shoulder and carry you there, and damned be your dignity!" He was NOT going to put up with this. Not today.

"Not if I stab you first," Arya grumbled, and he almost smirked. She and he both knew she wouldn't do that.

The rest of the ride passed in a stony silence, Gendry wondering why she had to be so stubborn and Arya sulking over his ultimatum. Soon enough they reached the city gates, and passed through the Iron Gate, the gate nearest to the Red Keep. They walked down past the Dragon Pit, which Aegon was planning to have re built, just as a place for the dragons to rest, and up Wood Alley. Past Bakers Row and the Book Keepers Guild, and then there they arrived.

The guards at the gate stopped them. "Where is the King?" They asked, as if they thought Gendry had somehow taken out the entire band and met up with Arya afterwards.

Gendry refrained from rolling his eyes. "He went on to Duskendale," he said, "I was sent to escort the Lady Arya back."

Arya twisted and glared at him. "Escorted?" She asked, her eyes narrowed into angry slits. Gendry ignored her as the guards let them past. Out of nowhere, Jayce ran across the yard, making Gendry wonder if the lad had been waiting for them. The thought made him a little guilty for snapping at him before he left.

"Milord, milady," he said, taking Rogue's reins. "How are you feeling?" He asked Arya, eyeing her bloodied face.

"I'm fine," she said, pushing herself from the saddle. She landed roughly and would have fallen had Gendry not grabbed hold of her arm just in time. She snatched it back, glaring at him.

Gendry swung off of the horse and patted Jayce's shoulder. "She'll be fine," he told the boy. "She'll be hitting you about with those staffs soon enough." Jayce smiled; he had really come on in the time it had taken them to get to Kings Landing. While he had yet to land a blow on Arya- a feat that Gendry had long since decided impossible having watched her train- he seemed to have fewer bruises... though Gendry had to admit it was possible that Arya had decided to ease up and give him a chance to actually learn. "Make sure Rogue has a hot rub down, it was a hard ride there and a long ride back," he said. Jayce nodded and led the stallion off.

Gendry watched him for a moment, noticing suddenly that Jayce was no longer the boy who had first set out with him from Storms End. He had grown several inches and his voice was deeper, rougher. He had filled out more across the chest, and Gendry was certain he could even see the beginnings of a moustache. He rubbed his face; it made him feel old. He turned around to see if Arya was still standing, and cursed when he saw she had disappeared.

It didn't take long to spot her; with her bloody face she had drawn several stares from the workers. Gendry grit his teeth and strode over to her, his longer legs easily catching up to her; normally it would have not been so easy, and she would have disappeared before he even noticed she was gone, and the fact that she was so easy to catch worried him to no end. He caught her elbow and pulled her to a stop. She glared at him resentfully. "Arya, I meant it when I said that I wanted you to see a maester," he said sternly.

She huffed at him. "If you keep nagging me, you'll be the one that needs to see a maester," she grumbled, trying to pull her arm away. The movement made her stumble, but Gendry caught her.

"You're seeing a maester," he said firmly, before bending down and scooping her up into his arms. She shrieked in displeasure, but Gendry noticed her hits weren't as strong as usual. He began striding off in the direction of the maester's tower, ignoring the looks being sent his way.

"Get _off_ of me!" Arya snapped, twisting in his hold. "You- you stupid, bull headed, arrogant-"

"-twat of a horses arse, I know," Gendry cut across her. "For fucks sake, Arya, you can barely stand up straight!"

She glared at him so strongly that Gendry thought her eyes would bleed, but he ignored her as he made his way up the stairs. She stopped trying to throw herself over board, for which he was thankful, but instead tried a different tactic.

"If you put me down, and let me go, I'll go straight to bed," she promised, like a child trying to wrangle one more bed time story. "I swear, and I'll even stay in my chamber until I'm better. I feel fine, Gendry- will you- Fuck! Just put me down!" Gendry ignored her.

Soon enough they reached the door and he sighed. "If I put you down, are you going to run?" He asked. She didn't answer, which he took for a yes. He put her down slowly, and, keeping one arm around her waist, made to knock on the door- but she ducked and slipped under his arm before he could. Gendry cursed and dashed after her, running down three steps at a time. He snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her back up the stairs, shouting and squirming.

Not bothering to try and knock this time, Gendry simply kicked the door open. Samwell Tarly jumped, and dropped a tray of wooden instruments; how he hadn't heard the noise Gendry would never know. He practically threw Arya in, and slammed the door behind him. He grasped her upper arm with his hand as she stood breathing heavily, glaring daggers at him.

"Sam," he greeted, as if he hadn't just wrestled a girl into the room. "Can you check her? She's hurt herself, though she won't say how." He glared at her this time.

"I keep telling him I'm fine," she protested, but Sam had already cleared a long wooden table and pointed at it. Arya didn't budge.

"I'm sure you are fine, milady," he said, "but it won't hurt to have a look, will it?" His voice was kind, but Arya still didn't budge.

Gendry sighed and pulled her over, put his hands around her waist, and placed her roughly on the table. She made to leap of to the side, but he caught her. "Stay," he commanded, his voice harsh. She pursed her lips.

Sam watched the exchange but made no comment. He cleared his throat as he rolled up his sleeves. "Do you mind if I...?" He gestured at her forehead. Arya scowled, so Sam looked at Gendry, who nodded. The maester gingerly untied the knot and pulled away the make shift bandage. Gendry swallowed.

The wound was large, a tear of bloodied skin. It was clearly deep, running through her eyebrow, and dried blood caked around it. As the material was pulled away the wound opened, and fresh blood dripped down her face. "Arya," he said, his voice leaving behind all of the harshness.

"I'm fine," she growled. And she was. She just needed to sleep, and then she would be as good as new. Besides it wasn't as if she hadn't had worse before. She glared at Gendry again.

Sam winced and peered closer at the cut. "May I ask how you got it?" He asked, dabbing gently at the inflamed skin around it.

Arya grit her teeth. "In a fight," was all she said. He didn't ask further, but stepped away and dropped the bloody cloth into a tray. He picked something up and walked back over.

"I'm afraid I need to get some gravel out of it before I clean it out," he said apologetically, holding up a pair of sharp looking tweezers. Arya grimaced. "Would you like to lie...?"

Arya shook her head, and slammed a hand to the table as the motion sent her head spinning. Sam noted that too, but said nothing. "I'll sit," she said. He looked dubious but he didn't argue. Arya sat perfectly still as he dug around in the wound, the gravel falling with tiny pings into the small silver tray he held.

"Alright, it's all out," he said, smiling weakly. "Now I just need to clean it. Would you prefer-"

"Fire is fine," She said, sighing. This was going to hurt, and she would never be able to hide the scar.

Sam blinked. "Fire?" He asked, paling. "I- no, no fire. Just water and lye. I was just going to ask if you were sure you didn't want to lie down," he said nervously.

"Oh," Arya said. "No, I'll sit," she said again. Sam nodded and turned away to get the things he needed. Gendry squeezed her wrist, and she looked at him.

"Fire?" He asked quietly. She shook her head at him. Now was not the time, but the memory drifted across her mind before she could stop it...

 _The rocks were hard and slippy beneath her fingers, painful to the touch on her numb skin. Gasping and shuddering, Arya pulled herself out of the water, up onto the steps. Breathing heavily, she collapsed and turned onto her side, her hand on her abdomen._

 _Blood, hot and black and thick. It spread through her clothes and spilled onto the stone steps, stained her hand a frightening red. She closed her eyes and suppressed a groan of agony, pulling herself shakily to her feet._

 _Every step was a struggle, and she threatened to fall every time she moved, staggering up the steps and onto the street. Her freezing wet clothes clung to her, icy water running down her face. People stared coldly at her from the crowd, hundreds of faces turning to stare at her, though none offered help. What did she do, where did she go... she couldn't treat this herself... but maybe..._

 _Arya pulled herself through the streets, every step agony, causing blood to rush out of her wounds, hot against the cold. She could smell it, and it took her to other times, other peoples deaths, but she had never thought her own would be like this._

 _The Gate stood between Purple Harbour, and Drowned Town, it wasn't so far away... if she didn't bleed out first. She knew the way, remembered that hers was the fourth window on the left. Arya staggered through the door and slipped up the stairs, as she had done so many times before, in another life, as a different person. She won't know me, Arya thought, grasping the railing of the stairs. She never met me, only Mercy. I just... I can be Mercy again, for a day._

 _The front door was open a crack, just as it always had been. Arya remembered how Mercy used to warn Snapper all of the time,_ keep the door shut. You never know who might be just outside. _She inched her way in, sagging at the familiar sight of the messy rooms. Fabrics and costumes draped across every inch of space, the bright and beautiful colours, the satins and silks and cottons._

 _"Hallo?" Called Snapper's soft voice from the other room. "Who is it?" Arya didn't have time to respond, for the woman appeared around the corner. The woman frowned at her._

 _"Who do you think you are- oh! Oh my, you're hurt-" she stepped back, fearful._

 _"Snapper, please," Arya cried. "It's me, it's Mercy. Don't you know me?" She allowed herself to fall back into character as Mercedene the mummer. "Don't you?"_

 _Snapper paled and dashed forwards to grab her and hold her steady. "Mercy! Oh my, Mercy- what happened? Look at you!" She helped Arya over to the bed and lay her down, propped against the wall. "Who did this?"_

 _Mercy gasped in pain. "I don't know," she stuttered. "A man, he robbed me. Please help, it hurts!" Every jostle sent pain shuddering and spiking through her body._

 _"Of course- I'll do my best, but it'll hurt," she said, before rushing off to gather supplies. Arya bit her tongue hard as her vision went hazy. How much blood had she already lost? Too much? She could practically feel her life flowing out of her._

 _Then suddenly Snapper was back, with a large bottle of liquor. "Here, drink as much as you can." She popped it open and held it to Arya's lips. She gulped it down, as it ran down her chin and soaked into her shirt. She winced at the burn in her throat, spluttering and pulling away. "No, more, you need more." She downed as much as she could, her head spinning and she was certain she would be sick._

 _Somehow her shirt was off and her corset, leaving only her bindings. She could barely see the wounds for blood. "It's better if you don't look," Snapper said, pushing her head back down. Arya succumbed, too weak to resist, though she could still see Snapper as she busied herself._

 _"Wha- what are you doing?" Arya slurred, the room spinning._

 _"Just don't look," Snapper said, and then Arya saw the fire. Her eyes widened in fear, and then her world was pain, and she collapsed into nothingness..._

"Lady Arya?" Arya swallowed and looked at Sam, shaking her head slightly to clear the buzzing sound. Was it from the memory, or the wound? Arya wasn't sure. "I said your head is all done. It should heal without a scar, apart from that deep bit through your eyebrow. You're lucky not to need stitches," he said chuckling nervously. "Now if you'll look at my finger," he said, bringing his first finger up. Arya blinked and tried to focus on it, but it was slightly blurry. She shook her head and tried again. "Hmm, ok," Sam hummed, "now this one if you don't mind." He lifted the other finger, and she tried to follow its movement, blinking when her eyes blurred again.

"Well that explains the stumbling and the dizziness," he said. "You have quite a serious concussion milady. It will be bed rest for at least five days, I'm afraid, lest you make yourself worse." Arya winced; Gendry would never leave her alone now. Sam cleared his throat again and stepped back. "Is there anything else I can help with?"

"No, I'm fi-"

"-Her knuckles," Gendry said loudly, cutting across her. "Her wrist too, I think, it's all swollen. And she winced earlier when I brushed her ribs." Arya glowered at him, shooting him a dark look, but he ignored her again.

"If you would pick up your hands, then," Sam said lightly. Arya hesitated, and Gendry squeezed her arm gently. She lifted them. Her knuckles were black and blue, swollen from beating the Black Knights armour when he was drowning her. Sam winced to look at them, prodding them lightly. "Your knuckles should be alright, with a hot poultice- but this one here, I think it may be fractured." He looked up and smiled, his multiple chins wobbling. "I'm glad I wasn't whoever was on the receiving end," he said with a quite chuckle. Arya smiled emptily. _The truth was that he never even felt it,_ she thought bitterly. She waited while he sponged them off, and wrapped a bandage around her knuckle, the third one on her right hand. She sighed; she would look like a corpse, wrapped in all these bandages.

He looked at her wrist next, and Arya couldn't help but pull a face when he tried to bend it. The swelling had gone stiff, the bruising purple against her pale skin. "Oh dear," Sam said again. "This one is definitely broken. How...?"

Arya swallowed. "I got it in the same fight," she said again simply. "All of it."

Sam shook his head. "It must have been some foe, milady." _You have no idea_ , she thought, as he wrapped up that hand as well, the bandage going around her thumb and half way up her forearm. When he was finished he pulled away. "Now you mentioned your ribs were sore too. Shall we take a look?"

Arya made to hop off of the table, but Gendry held her back. "My ribs are fine, honestly," she huffed. "Thank you very much for-"

"If you don't mind, Sam," Gendry interrupted. Sam looked between the two, unsure what to do. Arya scowled at Gendry, and he scowled back, his expression dark and impatient. Arya relented, huffing.

"Fine," she said, moving back on the table. Gendry released her wrist, though he didn't else wise move.

Sam cleared his throat. "Perhaps you would step outside, Lord Baratheon," he said lightly.

Gendry hesitated, his jaw clenching. Arya could see the muscle in his forehead bobbing. "Fine," he said, before looking back at Arya. "But I will be right outside, and if you so much as try to run, I will haul you back in here until Sam is done," he snapped, before striding across the room and throwing the door open. He slammed it behind him, and the room shook. Sam looked at her nervously.

"Your shirt, if you wouldn't mind, milady," he said, turning around to dispose of something. Arya sighed. _Might as well get it over with_ , she thought, pulling her shirt over her head. She winced as she did so, her ribs smarting.

Sam turned around, his round face as red as a tomato. He blanched. Arya ground her teeth together. She knew how it looked; masses of bruising where the Black Knight had kicked her, sending her entire body skidding across the stones; the wrappings she used to bind her chest; the red and white tangle of scars across her abdomen and side, spreading from hip to ribs. She didn't blame the soft-hearted Sam for balking at them.

"Well, you know one of the good things about maesters?" he asked, shaking his head slightly, moving to probe the tender flesh. Arya shook her head, and he smiled. "They don't ask questions, and they don't judge. Simply treat." Arya smiled, and huffed out a laugh. The man was fat, but he was kind, and his heart was in the right place. "Well, it isn't so bad," he said. "Just two broken. The rest are just bruised, but they'll be sore."

He moved away and crossed the room again, where he measured out a length of bandage. "But supposing maesters did ask questions," he said, his voice joking. Arya chuckled. He picked up some scissors and snipped. "Would you tell me?"

Arya hesitated. Sam was kind, and one of Jon's closest friends. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, for while she trusted him, he may tell Jon. "You won't tell?" She asked.

He turned around as he ravelled up the length he had snipped off. "That's the other good thing about maesters," he smiled. "Is that they're sworn to secrecy."

Arya huffed out a laugh. She liked Sam; he was gentle, and kind, and had no ulterior motives. Just to learn and help others. It was a rare gift in this world. "Where do I start?" She asked drily.

He smiled again. "How about the beginning?"

Arya smiled and hopped off the table as he finished. "When I figure out where that was, maybe then I'll tell you."

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 **Phew! That was a long one, 35 pages, 11, 577 words! I've been typing for so long that the blisters on my fingers have blisters! Anyway, I hope that you all enjoyed it! I'm aware there were a lot of flashbacks this chapter, but I love writing them! Anyway, please leave a review or pm if you have any questions, and I will get back to you asap! Hoping you enjoy the next chapter, Over and Out xox**

 **P.S. I'm so sorry about the extremely late update, I've been at festivals the last week or so and I meant to upload the next chapter before I left but I completely forgot about it in the mania! I hope the extra long one makes up for it!**


	30. Hearts and Handcuffs

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah, nah I still don't own. At this point I'm really not gonna try and pull a sneaky on ya.**

 **Alright, I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter! I was super conflicted about it at first but then I thought heck it, why not? We've had quite a lot of rebel Arya maybe its time for some angry Gendry too. So what are we all thinking about it? Let me know via reviews, that whole lil box down at the bottom there! They make my day :) Anyway, this ones gonna be a relatively quiet chapter compared to the others, I figured I'd let them all have a bit of a break from the drama... even if it pisses Arya off lol. Anyway, that is all from me, I hope you like it, and now for the summary of the last chapter! Over and Out xox**

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 **Jon Connigton, treated of Greyscale by Maester Samwell Tarly, Hand to Aegon, speaks with Aegon about Arya Starks disappearance and all that has come to light about her past (so far). He notes that Aegon, as he was before, seems overly fond of her, and draws parallels between Arya, Gendry and Aegon and Lyanna, Robert and Rheagar. He hopes that history will not repeat itself, and while he comforts Aegon about her disappearance, he inwardly wonders if it might be better for all if she isn't found. Meanwhile Arya is badly wounded and drowning, but manages to trick her foe. Nymeria arrives with a pack of wolves just in time, who for some reason only attack the bandits, while Arya escapes on the back of Nym, Olyvar with her on Astrid. They ride as far as they can and then settle to rest the night. Olyvar witnesses the town go up in flames until it is put out. Back at Kings Landing Sam tells Jon and Gendry of the events at Duskendale and it triggers the memory of telling Arya about the Ghost of High Heart being there. Jon and Gendry leave with a group of men to investigate and see if Arya went there. When Arya wakes up Olyvar tells her that she was howling in her sleep which strikes her as odd as Nym was right beside her the whole time, though she vaguely remembers dreaming about wolves. Sadly, though not as a final plan, Arya tells Nym to go North, as dire wolves do not belong in the south. Her and Olyvar are sharing Astrid when they hear a host approaching. They hide in the trees and when an arrow plunges into a tree beside her head, Arya remembers a similar situation in her youth. She recognises Anguy's shot and walks out to meet them. Gendry reunites with her nd worrie about her multiple wounds. Jon apologises quietly, for everything, and then leaves with Olyvar to go and see the lord of Duskendale. Aegon greets Arya with a joke and as the two talk Gendry feels a surge of jealousy. Gendry travels back to Kings Landing with Arya, who falls asleep in his lap while they ride. Upon their return Gendry forces Arya to see Sam to dress and treat her wounds. At Duskendale Jon investigates the events there, and when he is finished decides to find the Ghost of High Heart to see if Arya had spoken to her and what she had wanted.**

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Arya paced around her room angrily, muttering and snarling under her breath. Two days she had been cooped up in her chambers, two days she had been forced to rest. She huffed; she didn't need rest. She had glared at Sam when he brought it up, hard enough that his chins wobbled in fear.

Gendry had pushed back into the room on Sam's call, so quickly that Arya had wondered if his hand had been on the latch in wait. He had narrowed his eyes when he saw her standing up, but said nothing, instead turning to Sam for his verdict.

"She's lucky," he had said with a small smile. "Two broken ribs, shattered wrist, various other scrapes and cuts and bruises. That concussion won't be going away quickly either."

Gendry had nodded, his jaw set in determination. "What do we do now?" Arya had shot a look at Sam, but he had either missed it or ignored her.

"Bed rest for at least three days, and preferably confinement to chambers for another two," he said, as Arya glared daggers at his large back. "And nothing to cause strain for weeks at the least. I would advise perhaps taking a ship back to Storms End, the ride could cause more damage before she heals properly, and-" he had turned around then to see Arya silently snarling at him and faltered, but by then it was already too late, and Gendry had been determined since that she obey Sam's instructions.

She was, however, relieved that Sam had not picked up on other things. She had been so adverse to meeting him because... well, certain tricks she used were not bound to fool a maester, but it seemed as though Sam had not picked up on them... if he had... Arya shook her head. That was not a good thought. Gendry would know, surely, even if Sam didn't put two and two together, and then... he would either hate her or become so protective of her she suspected he might wrap her up an blankets and throw her in a wheelhouse.

Arya cursed the man again as she stomped around the room. He was so... protective. Did he forget that she had survived worse? Or did he still think of her as a child? He had barely even let her walk back to her chambers, having wanted to carry her himself, but contented himself with supporting her- whether she wanted it or not.

Arya had ignored the instructions several times over the first day, choosing to leave her rooms intending to greet Jon upon his return, but Gendry had been beyond furious when he caught her and had all but hauled her back to her room. The arse had even got to Jon before she did, and Jon had posted guards at her door to be certain she was "able to call for something if necessary"- but Arya wasn't stupid, and Jon's attempts at subtlety were well below the standards of a faceless assassin. Even Sansa seemed to think it all a bit much when she had come to visit, braving Arya's foul mood.

"They probably just feel over protective," she had said, bending over her needle work to inspect her stitches.

Arya had narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" She had asked coldly.

Sansa had looked up, her cheeks blushed slightly pink. "Well... it's only natural, is it not? After..." She looked down again, suddenly extremely interested in her thread.

Arya had leaned forward in her chair. "After what?" She asked, barely concealing the irritation in her voice. "After Duskendale?"

Sansa had blinked those perfect blue eyes. "I suppose, yes, but... I imagine they feel somewhat guilty."

Arya had lowered her brow in confusion and pushed away from the table to watch out the window. "Guilty?" She didn't understand why, it wasn't like they had been the ones to attack her.

Sansa had sighed with exasperation. "Because they're men," she had said impatiently. "And as such they think everything that ever happens is because of them. Arrogant, isn't it?"

Arya had huffed in reply. "Very."

Yet Arya still fumed within the walls of her chamber, frustrated and stir crazy. There was a clanging of swords outside and Arya leaned against the window to see what was happening, wishing it was her down there. Two boys, squires by the look of it. Gangling and ungainly, they moved around each other. Arya watched as one of them swiftly disarmed the other, and sent his opponent to the ground. The moves were basic but they were done confidently and well. The victor turned around, and a rare smile slipped passed Arya's lips; Jayce. He grinned and helped the other boy up, before catching sight of Arya in the window and blushing, though he looked pleased with himself.

She leaned further out of the window. "What did I tell you about your grip?" She called. She had seen it a mile off, her expert eye training in on it immediately.

Jayce went a deeper shade of pink. "Not so tight!" He shouted up, earning a look of disapproval from a knight walking past. "It's a sword, not a whores tit!" The knight appeared further scandalised and cuffed Jayce around the ear. The boy winced and dropped his sword.

Arya shook her head, smiling. "That's another thing," she called. "What did I say about dropping your damn sword?"

Jayce grinned this time, having picked it up. "Don't bloody do it!" The knight made to cuff him again, but Jayce dodged and ran off, saluting Arya as he darted off around the corner. Arya shook her head and grinned to herself; the boy was entertaining, that was true. She wondered if she really could get him up to standard of a knighthood one day...

"Why are you so happy?"

Arya span around; she hadn't even heard him come in. She scowled; her head was still foggy. Gendry stood leaning against the doorway, looking half amused and half suspicious. The last time he had come in Arya had damn near thrown a knife at his face.

He rolled his eyes at her expression. "It's good to see you too," he said, striding into the room, closing the door behind him, as if he thought she might bolt any second. Gendry saw her expression and rolled his eyes again. "Just a precaution," he said lightly.

Arya sat back against the window sill. "If I wanted to leave I would, and a door wouldn't stop me," she answered coldly.

Gendry did not bother to answer that. "You were watching Jayce?" He surmised. She nodded, allowing a half smug smile to cross her face. "He's improved quickly," Gendry admitted. "You should hear him bloody talk about you. I was walking past the stables the other day and I could hear him yapping about the master of sword skill, Arya Stark, who just happened to be teaching him."

Arya shook her head slightly. "He could be great one day," she said, moving to sit opposite Gendry at the desk. "He's got good reflexes, and he's a quick learner. I think he could be a knight one day."

Gendry raised a brow. "You think Jayce could be a knight?" He looked out of the window and shook his head as he saw Jayce mucking out a stall, whistling. He turned back to Arya, dubious. "I'm not saying the lad can't fight, but his temperament is not... what you would expect of a knight."

Arya shook her head, but the motion made her dizzy. Gendry didn't miss the way she blinked it away, but he didn't say anything. "It takes gut and determination to keep training," Arya pointed out. "You've seen how I train him; I don't mess around with him, if he opens himself for a hit I'll hit him til he's black and blue- which is oft enough. But he never gives up."

Gendry considered her argument and then shrugged. "You're right," he agreed, "But he has a long way to go."

Arya shrugged. "So did we," she said, "and look at us. You were knighted, from Gendry Waters to Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill to Lord Baratheon of Storms End. If we could do it, he can." Gendry looked at her strangely, regarding her. "What?" She demanded, uncomfortable under his gaze.

"What of you?" He asked.

"What of me?" She asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Didn't you ever want to be a knight?" He asked. "Don't you now?" Arya snorted, and he cocked a brow. "What?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "I would make a terrible knight," she said flippantly.

Gendry blinked, taken aback. "You're a master swords man- woman," he corrected himself. "Better than most knights I've met."

Arya snorted again. "Most?" She asked sarcastically. "I could knock any one of them on their arses any day- if you'd let me out of this bloody buggering room." She glared at him, and this time he rolled his eyes, though he was still clearly waiting for an answer. She sighed and put a boot up on the edge of the table, the other swinging. "You know me Gendry, I'm no valiant knight of noble intentions."

He looked as if he might argue, but Arya cut across him. "Besides, we don't have knights in the North," she said. "Knighthood is for you southroners with your seven gods."

Gendry looked surprised. "You don't have knights in the North?" He asked, cocking his brow again. Arya shook her head and he sat back in his chair. Then his expression changed. "Arya, what does Valar Morghulis mean?"

Arya looked up, surprised by the question. "Why?" She asked, suspicious.

He shrugged, but Arya could see by the set of his jaw that he wasn't asking for casual purposes. "I heard you say it once." He looked at her carefully, his deep blue eyes searching for a reaction.

So it was just his way of bringing that up. Arya felt her face harden. "It's part of a phrase," she said slowly. "It means "all men must die"."

He nodded. "What's the other part?"

"Valar Dohaeris. All men must serve." This was dangerous territory. Arya kicked back from the table, knowing the motion would distract him, and stood up, moving to watch out of the window, her back to him.

She heard him stand up and walk up behind her. She bristled as his forearm came to lean against the wall, above her head. "You could be a knight, you know?" He asked suddenly, though his voice was quieter than before. Arya rather got the feeling he was leading up to something. "I've never even seen you truly fighting. I'd like to see that one day."

Arya swallowed. "Maybe one day I'll show you." She could feel his chest behind her, brushing ever so lightly against her back. She turned around and looked up into his eyes, her breathing slow...

"You must have been really good to survive the pits."

Arya froze, her breath halting with a vicious jerk in her throat. Her whole body tensed and she could feel a tingling in her legs and in her fingertips. She forced herself to breathe and turned around again to face the window, though he only pressed closer to her from behind. "That's a big accusation," she said. So Jon had told Gendry... she hadn't thought he would, she had hoped he would come to her first, but he never had. Perhaps... she could pass it all off as a misunderstanding? "How did you come by it?"

She turned around and watched his face in the half dark as he regarded her. "You said it yourself," he said quietly. "You said Euron Greyjoy made you a slave."

"I never said I was some gladiator, Gendry!" Arya sighed. She was sure she hadn't told him about the pits, just that she had been a slave for a time. Unless... she felt herself pale, and was grateful for the darkness. She knew that she spoke in her dreams, sometimes, was it possible that she had said something? Gendry would never just believe Jon or the queen, he would surely assume Daenerys had the wrong face? Jon couldn't have told Gendry without asking, he wouldn't have... but what if Gendry had put it together himself? "What makes you think I was?" She asked cautiously.

"Nobody fights like that, Arya," he said softly. "Where else would you have learned to fight with a staff? With the mummers? The Wildlings?" He sighed, and Arya saw pain on his face, noticed how his arms seemed to tighten around her waist.

Arya swallowed. "Gendry, I taught myself. I had to defend myself, especially after I found out about Cersei sending the Faceless Men after me." She saw doubt flash across his face, and wondered if he was doubting his accusation or her argument. "Besides, lots of people are good at fighting, how many of them were in fight pits?" She snorted and pretended she was watching the fight in the yard below very carefully. She heard Gendry make a strangled noise behind her, and suddenly her hand was stilled by his on her wrist.

"Arya, I never saw it before, but I do now." He cursed under his breath and his grip on her wrist tightened momentarily, and then he turner her around to face him, gently but firmly. "You can call me stupid, or bull headed, but I'm sure that I'm not wrong in this. You hide everything away, all the time, but sometimes things slip through the cracks." Arya's mouth felt dry, and she wanted to do something, but she couldn't.

"You have nightmares, you curse him over and over. You fight like- like no one I've ever seen before. You say you've done bad things." His voice was as rough as sand paper and she could feel how tense he was, despite the space between them. "You say you were a slave, but you also say that you've never been with a man, which I can't see- you and I both know female slaves usually end up in their masters bed, whether they will it or not, and you- Seven Hells, you would have killed anyone that did that, and you would have been executed for it."

She closed her eyes, and grit her teeth, but he gently turned her around. His eyes were darker in the evening dusk, and cast in shadows from his brow being pulled low. "Please, Arya, don't lie to me. I know you think I'm stupid, but I'm not. I know when you're lying, when you're hiding things. I'm not Jon, alright?" Arya sucked in a shaky breath, knowing the game was over.

He wasn't stupid, she knew that. When they were younger, just children on the run, she had thought so, but he wasn't. Besides, it would be worse if he really knew how she became so proficient a fighter. It was better that he knew about the pits than the House of Black and White, and hell's- if he thought she had meant the pits as the bad things she had done, then what would he say about her being a Faceless Assassin? He would surely hate her for it, and while she didn't want to marry him, she didn't want to lose him either.

"I don't think you're stupid," she said quietly, peering up at him.

His face flashed with confusion, and then frustration. "That's what you have to say?" He groaned and let go of her to turn and look over his shoulder for a moment before looking at her again. "Fuck, Arya! That wasn't the point!"

"I know," she said, biting her lip. "But it's true, none the less."

Gendry snorted without amusement. "What, that you don't think I'm fucking brain dead?"

"All of it," she confessed softly. Gendry's eyes snapped to meet hers and he sucked in a breath.

"So it's true?" He asked, his voice even rougher than before. "You were a gladiator?" When Arya made no answer he turned away, his hand rubbing at his jaw. He clenched his teeth and sat down heavily on a large wooden chest. Arya scratched with her finger at the side of her thumbnail before stepping over and sitting next to him. He didn't turn to look at her, and Arya sighed before reaching over to take his hand, using her fingers to coax it out of a fist.

"After Braavos, I knew I had to escape," she said quietly. He stiffened again beside her, but she carried on, her voice monotonous. "I couldn't go west, and there was nothing to the north, so I took a ship to Lorath. I planned to only stay a while, learn their customs and then travel to the mainland under the pretence of being a girl from Lorath wanting to make something for myself." She sighed, and fingered the lines along his palm.

"In Lorath, everyone is equal. In a way it was liberating. It is the poorest, and in many ways the most backwards, of the Free Cities, but the people were mostly kind. I stayed there for almost three moons, doing whatever work was available, and then... I was up on a cliff edge one day, water dancing in private, and I saw the ships coming in. Like I said, Lorath is small... and vulnerable." She sighed, rubbing the base of his thumb. "Euron stopped there, to take slaves."

She didn't want to talk about it now, not everything. There would be a time, but that was not now, and there would be a place, but that wasn't here. Besides, Arya didn't know how Gendry would react to it all of it. "The sacking of Lorath was horrific. The beach was almost as bad. But the journey was the worst. The hull of that ship... it was pure hell. I was able to prove that I would make a better working slave than a whore, and I was sold to the pits in Astapor.

"The pits... were brutal. They laughed at me, a young girl, wanting to fight the city's best. Because they thought I would die in minutes when it came to my first fight they gave my opponent full armour and weaponry. When I asked for my sword, Needle, they gave me a sewing needle in mockery. When I was pushed into the arena the crowds were in hysterics of laughter... but they weren't laughing when I was the victor."

She rubbed her knuckles around the pad of his thumb, finding his heat relaxing. She could see the way his whole body was tensed, his jaw clenched so tight she was sure that she could hear his teeth breaking with pressure. "After that I rose quickly. Made a name for myself. They called me Xhiqa Xhia Mor. It means Darkheart."

She felt him turn to look at her, as she had thought he would. "The Ghost of High Heart Hill."

She nodded, remembering how scared she had felt when the dwarf woman had wailed it, the way long cold fingers seemed to clutch her heart... but she was gone now, dead. She raised a hand to her chest as if to rub the echoes away. "I fought with staffs, with morning stars, with the three spears, but never with swords. Despite my fame, they said no woman should ever hold one. It didn't matter, I won every match. Sometimes they would give me nothing, just for entertainment." She picked up a small rock from her desk in her hand and squeezed it in anger, focusing on how the sharp edged dug into her flesh, biting at the palm of her hand.

"When Daenerys Targaryen opened the fighting pits in Meereen my master took me there. During a riot, in the middle of a match, I was able to escape. During the chaos I killed the keeper of keys and freed the others. I got back Needle, from one of the guards that had taken it for his own. I used it to kill my master." She remembered the way she had watched his fear when he saw her. The way he had backed into a wall and growled at her that he would have her whipped for even touching a sword. How she had used the sword to carve out his heart. The way his blood had mingled with the soft orange sand.

She shook her head. "I was finally free, but I still couldn't come home, I had no home. So I travelled across Essos. I joined a small Khalasar, under Khal Tollo. After a few moons I parted with them and continued east. I joined communities, learned their ways, and left. Never staying long enough to settle. Eventually I came back to Westeros, and you know the rest." She sighed and squeezed his hand before letting go and standing up.

Gendry's hands reached out and rested on her hips, pulling her towards him gently. She stood between his thighs, her hands on his shoulders as he pressed his forehead to her diaphragm, breathing in and out steadily, as if he were counting and if he stopped breathing he would explode in fury. _Ours is the fury_.

As the sun set and glimmered orange and red through the window, Arya found her mind drifting back to Euron. When he had caught her he had flicked a coin at her, said that when she saw him again she could give it back as a symbol of gratitude. She still had it, with the coin that Jaqen H'ghar had given her. She had told him that if she ever saw him again, she would kill him.

It was almost convenient, really, that he was after her. It would make it so much easier to get her revenge on him. Arya wondered how she would do it. Perhaps she would carve out his remaining eye, and feed it to his fellow crows... no. She wanted him to be looking at her as he died.

Gendry's arms relaxed and dropped to rest on her thighs, his hands still on her hips, and she could feel how tense he was, the way his thighs were stiff around hers and how his body was like stone as he held her. She was about to sigh when he spoke up, his voice as rough as before, but softer somehow. "I won't ever let anyone hurt you like that again, you know." Arya could hear the anger in his voice, though whether it was anger at Euron, or the Masters, she didn't know. Likely both of them. "I will protect you."

Arya almost bit out that she didn't need protecting, but held her tongue, knowing he didn't mean it as a slight. "That's the thing," Arya said sadly. "You can't protect me. No one can. Things will come and we will meet them when they do, but we can only be ready for the storm when it comes."

After all, that was what the Ghost of High Heart had said, wasn't it? _The storm is coming for you, and you must either run from it or embrace it._

* * *

Gendry could feel his hands still quivering at his sides with suppressed rage and guilt. Arya, a gladiator... Daenerys had told him, and Aegon too, but actually hearing the truth from her own lips... it made him sick. He had left Jon and Daenerys telling him out of it, he knew it would have panicked her, but now... how could he hide it from them? Everything that had happened, everything that was happening- Euron quietly amassing his strength, using Elmar Frey as a front- they needed to know.

He strode through the castle to Daenerys' own receiving chamber, where he knew the three Targaryen's oft spent their evenings together. The two guards tried to stop him but Gendry pushed past them and burst through the door.

Aegon looked up and quirked a brow. "Have you never heard of knocking?" He asked. Gendry ignored him.

"It's true," he said simply. "Your Grace, you were right." He hated telling them, knowing that Arya would ask him not to, but it was for her safety. Gendry would do nothing to risk that, and Daenerys and Jon already knew, Aegon too. What was the point of risking her safety? Euron could know now, who he had, and if he was after her blood as well as knowing what an accomplished fighter she was... Gendry knew it was his duty to her to tell them, whether she liked it or not.

His words got their attention; Jon looked murderous, like the whole time he had hoped beyond hope it had been false. Daenerys looked sadly resigned, and Aegon... Gendry had no idea what Aegon was thinking. _Arya would,_ he thought. _She reads faces even better than a maester reads books._

"But... what of the scars?" Jon asked, his sword hand clenching into a fist, his leather glove creaking under the strain.

Daenerys shook her head, her mouth opening and then closing very briefly. "Perhaps I was wrong after all," she said. "Perhaps they were just cuts..." she blinked.

Gendry walked further into the room. "Your Grace, tell us all of it. Everything." Gendry did not care that it was not his place to command the queen, did not care that had Arya done the same he would have reprimanded her for it. "Arya could be in danger, and we need to know everything we can about what we are dealing with in Euron Greyjoy."

The room seemed heavy with silence, tense and foreboding as Daenerys searched for the words to start, all eyes on hers, violet eyes, grey eyes and blue eyes, all of them watching her intently for any sign of speech. She stood up and walked over to the fire, staring into it as if drawing strength from the heat, strength from the flames to find her voice.

"When I was ruling in Meereen," she began, "there was a group of insurgents, the Sons of the Harpy. In an effort to subdue them, I married Hizdhar zo Loraq, and he suggested that to placate them we opened the fighting pits again." She got a far away look on her face when talking about her past, a mixture of relief, sadness and happiness.

"The fighters that day had been famed across Slavers Bay and beyond; one of them was Gorzak Gorok, a man of almost your size, uncommon in Essos apart from among the Dothraki. Some believed he was a Dothraki before he was captured," she explained, staring into the fire. Gendry looked at Jon who was listening bitterly, and Aegon who seemed intrigued. "He had been fighting in the pits for years, and he never lost a fight. The opponent," she looked up at him, "was a young girl. The crowd called her Xhiqa Xhia Mor. It means Darkheart."

Gendry nodded; he knew this bit... in a manner. How it worked he did not know, and he doubted Arya did either. "The Ghost of High Heart Hill," he said slowly, raising his gaze. The three Targaryens, two silver and one dark, looked up at him. "When Arya and I were children the Ghost of High Heart Hill called Arya Darkheart." Jon already knew, after a fashion, for he had been there when Gendry had remembered what the words meant, and who had first uttered them. He didn't need Daenerys to continue, but she did, and every word made his heart feel heavier.

"She had been sold in an auction," the queen carried on, staring into the flames. "She was new, young, a girl. No one expected her to win her first match, but she did. And the second. And the third. Soon people were flocking to see her fight, laying bets on whether she would win each match or not. She fought seasoned gladiators, teams of warriors, animals, fights between twenty slaves at once... she came out of every single one victorious." Gendry clenched his fists together and then relaxed them, before clenching them again in quick succession.

"She was famous among the people and when I opened the pits she was to be the closing match, her against Gorzak mo Gorok; two famed gladiators, each the opposite of the other. The match was so big that it drew close to ten thousand people," she said, her eyes far away. Gendry could feel blood trickling down his skin, his nails embedded into his palm and his knuckles white and straining, shaking as he tried to control himself.

"It was perfect for the Harpy's sons," the queen recalled bitterly. "They were able to hide, blend in with the crowd. I never even saw him coming, but The Darkheart did. She had just won, Gorzak's body was still stuck on her spear. She pushed him off with her foot, and stood up. She sought out my face... and then threw a dagger right at me."

Gendry paled. "She tried to kill you?" He asked. It would mean death for Arya now that the queen knew her, and he had just confirmed it...she needed to escape. He would stall for her, but-

"She didn't try to kill me," Daenerys said softly. Gendry sighed in relief. "She saved my life. One of the Harpy's Sons had sneaked up behind me, ready to open my throat, but her knife stopped him. As you can imagine, all hell broke loose, and I found myself down in the pit." She sat down on an embroidered stool, looking lost. "People were dying everywhere, my people. My guards were falling quickly and the Harpies seemed to come from both nowhere and everywhere, their golden masks splattered with blood." She shivered. "My last guard died, and a Harpy came for me... but before his spear could kill me, the Darkheart killed him. She had saved my life again. She took my wrist and told me to run. She cut down every would be assassin and delivered me to the entrance the slaves come out to fight from. There were Harpies everywhere, the fight was surely impossible. I asked her to come with me, that she would die otherwise, but she looked me straight in the eye and said "I have been dead for a very long time, your Grace. Valar Morghulis." I'll never forget it."

There it was again, Valar Morghulis. Arya had said it when she killed that man at the Twins, but he was sure he had heard it before, long before... and why did she use it almost religiously? All men must die, what did it mean?

Daenerys stood up again, rubbing goose bumps from her flesh. Gendry realised that he was shaking with rage, and when he looked to Jon the Northman was listening intently, and Gendry guessed he had not yet heard this part of the tale. "She turned away and never looked back. Just cut the rope that held up the iron gate. It fell, keeping me safe from the Harpies... and her trapped with them." Gendry was sure that the strong and formidable dragon queen was crying. "She had told me to run, so I did. All these years I believed her dead, so believe my surprise when I saw her, standing with you in the yard."

Gendry swallowed thickly as the queen finished her story, his fists clenching and un-clenching, his jaw so tight his teeth threatened to crack, anger swelling like a black storm inside of him. She had been a child. A child, a slave, a gladiator. Forced to kill in an arena for the amusement of others. No wonder she had stormed off when Jon brought it up. All of her suffering, everything she had ever illuminated to... it all came down to this. All because Euron Greyjoy made a stop at Lorath.

The black storm grew and grew and Gendry turned around. In a fit of anger he punched the wall. He heard Jon say his name, but he was too angry, too far gone. He hit the wall, again and again, imagining it was Euron. He turned around. "I'm going to kill him," he said quietly, dangerously. He could feel hot blood trickling from the splits in his skin.

Jon stood up and curled his fists. "I'm going to kill him. She's my sister, my little sister... or she was," he said bitterly.

Aegon cleared his throat. "Don't you think that if anyone has the right to kill him, it's Arya?" He added to the exchange.

"Not a chance," Jon said, slamming his fist onto the table. "Are you quite insane, brother?"

"No way in hell," Gendry agreed.

Aegon narrowed his eyes. "No wonder the girl left as she did, if I were her I would have left long ago!" Gendry narrowed his eyes in return. "Did you not hear anything Daenerys just said? The girl was a fucking gladiator! She survived the Sacking of Lorath, she survived the voyage on the slave ship, she survived slavery and fighting in the pits. She survived everything after and everything before then, and you two are arguing about who gets to kill the man who did this to her?" He scowled. "You should be looking for her now, not acting as if she's the innocent child that left Winterfell as an eight year old!"

Gendry shook his head. "Not now," he said. "I... when I brought it up with Arya, I didn't say anything about you having told me. Jon, you know as well as I how she would react to that. If she thought that everyone was starting to know, she would run again." He knew she would, and as he watched Jon's face he knew that Jon did too. "I can't- I won't- lose her again."

For a moment, just a moment, there was silence, nothing but the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Gendry watched as the flames flickered, and for a mere second he thought he saw Arya's face in the swirling red and orange, but then he blinked and it was gone. Aegon sighed, crossing his arms and disturbing the quiet.

"This is all ridiculous," he said. "All of us keeping secrets like this."

Jon stood up and waked over to the window, staring out into the darkness. "Here's another," he said gravely, before turning around. Gendry felt his stomach tighten. There was more? How many secrets could one girl possibly have? "When I went to Duskendale I went to the dwelling of the Ghost of High Heart." His eyes landed on Gendry's, and somehow, Gendry knew what Jon was going to say before the words left his lips. "She was dead. A single wound, made by a narrow blade."

No one said anything, and then once again Aegon broke the quiet. "But why would Arya want to kill an old dwarf woman? What threat did she pose?"

Daenerys sighed, leaning against the table, her hands spread wide apart. "Perhaps... the dwarf had already known a part of Arya's life. She could have known more that Arya did not want getting out."

Gendry shook his head. "Arya wouldn't do that," he said, but Arya's own words came forth in the back of his mind, unbidden: _I'm no valiant knight of noble intentions._ What had she meant by that?

* * *

 **Ok so shoot me- it was a short chapter, I know, eighteen pages to be precise. But hells, this was one confusing chapter to write! Some of these scenes I had originally written months ago for old chapters, and then taken out to save them, and then I got this idea for this chapter, but it meant going back and deleting and adding bits from and to the last four chapters- which I've had written for a while but hadn't yet published. So I had to keep going and checking and re checking and- ugh, just trust me, it was mad confusing. I'm still not, entirely sure that I haven't bodged it up, but hey we'll give it a go... we'll see. Leave a review or drop me a pm if you have any questions about the last couple of chapters, I know they have been really rather confusing and muddled and annoying to read! I will explain everything again in the summery at the start of the next chapter, or if people would prefer I can do a far more in depth summary of EVERYTHING that has happened overall. Just review or pm or whatever if you would like that :) Ok, I'll be hush now- Over and Out xox**


	31. The Story So Far

**Alright so last chapter I offered to do an overall summary of what has happened all the way since the beginning in more detail... of course, some things still won't make sense yet though as I have not revealed everything yet. I hope that this helps for anyone that is confused- I know I am, and I'm the one who is writing the damn thing! I imagine you're all thinking "ok, yes, please shut up and get on with it, no one even cares," or if you are Robert Baratheon, "start the damn thing before I piss myself!" Alright, ok, lets go!**

After the Long Night some- not all- of the Wildlings commit crimes, taking advantage of the after effects of the war. Because of this they are sent back beyond the Wall as punishment, as yes they have committed crimes, but they also helped hugely in the war to begin with. Other wildlings choose to go back of their own free will... but soon enough the wildlings are like "yeah actually this sucks royal balls" and rebel, creating yet more battles between the newly formed Nights Watch and the wildlings.

In one of these battles a watch recruit see's a girl riding a dire wolf, who strongly resembles the missing Stark sister. He writes to Jon at Winterfell to tell him. Initially Jon, the King in the North, is reluctant, as he has seen and heard too many false stories and sightings, but Sansa and his own conscience force him to go. Jon goes beyond the Wall with the fresh recruits, and while they camp at Crasters Keep they are attacked.

Meanwhile Gendry has been legitimatized and made Lord of Storms End. There he finally chases up the past about what happened to Arya, as the night she went missing he got drunk from grief and the next morning could not remember, and never asked, assuming she was dead and not wanting to hear it. After that he went to the Inn at the Crossroads, before he was sold to Melisandre. He then entered Jon's service, and that brought him to where he is now.

At the same time Arya is beyond the Wall, living as a Wildling, at a camp at Antler River, where a report has just come in of Crows camping at Crasters. Arya's nemesis suggests they kill all of them except for one and have him go back to the Wall and give a false report of how many men the Wildlings have. Arya points out that it is a stupid idea, and suggests a better plan; that instead they spook them, draw them out bit by bit and then ambush them. Whilst they do this a few would sneak back to Crasters and burn it down, as it is the nearest hold for the inexperienced crows. They would mark it like the Others used to and spark fear through the Nights Watch to put them on edge about more White Walkers and hopefully forget about the Wildling Threat. The plan is agreed, and goes ahead.

Jon is waken during the attack and goes outside. Other Crows go off into the dark and minutes later the rest of the camp is woken by the screams of agony. A bush nearby then sets on fire, and a battle commences. The inexperienced crows give chase, despite Jon warning them that the whole things is clearly a trap. He then finds himself facing off against a foe, and while at first he does not recognise her, it is Arya.

Arya does not recognise Jon either and beats him, disarming him when he is distracted by seeing Nymeria. When she realises that it IS Jon she panics and flees, riding away on Nymeria. Jon is unable to believe it, and then gives chase after her to a mountain side.

Meanwhile Gendry has been building up the Storm Lands which had been until recently run by bandits and the like. One evening he decided he really wants to know what happened to Arya, and Harwin tells him; that she felt betrayed and alone and ran away, only to be abducted by the Hound. The Brotherhood tracked them, following the trail left by an ex soldier and his son, to the Twins, where the Red Wedding happened. The Hound then took her up to the Eyrie, to her aunt Lyssa, but Lyssa was dead. He tells Gendry how Brienne of Tarth found them and they fought, and after that Arya went missing and no one has seen her since. Gendry drinks himself into a sleep filled with guild and regrets.

Back in the North Jon finally catches up with Arya and is surprised by the way she greets him coldly, with her sword to his throat. She states that she does not wish to return to Winterfell because she has no place there. Arya herself feels incredibly confused and alone and unsure, and can not believe that Jon is truly there. Eventually he convinces her that it is truly him and she finally believes him and they reunite. Arya leads him to a cave that Jon recognises as one from the sequence of caves that he and Ygritte were in. They talk briefly about what happened to them, though Arya refuses to say anything. When Jon brings up the idea of her coming home again she says she was serious and does not plan on returning. Jon is furious about it, but does not truly believe that she would do that.

While Jon sleeps Arya leaves, planning to head back to the main Wildling Camp at Skirling Pass. In the night she climbs a tree to sleep in but is woken by Jon shouting for her. She jumps down and tells him he is an idiot for making a noise while in the Haunted Forest. She is then proved right as they are attacked by her nemesis and his companions. Arya saves Jon's life but risks her own safety and gets caught out. Grisser (the nemesis) figures out who she really is, the missing princess of Winterfell. He tells Jon he will ensure Arya returns safely to Winterfell with him, but only if Jon swears to speak to the new Lord Commander to open the gates and let the Wildlings through. He then knocks Arya out, giving Jon no choice but to take her back to Castle Black for treatment.

Arya wakes up and grows furious when she realises that Jon has taken her back south of the Wall as she can no longer return North as the Wildlings will hold her hostage now her cover is blown. After she attempts to leave, barefoot and dressed in a bedsheet, Jon convinces her to go with him to Winterfell. With no other choice Arya agrees.

Down in the south at Storms End Gendry gets a visitor: the Hound. He had heard that Gendry was trying to find out what happened to Arya, and says he will tell Gendry everything that happened while she was with him in return for a position in his guard. Gendry agrees. The Hound also tells him that there are rumours that Arya has been sighted north of the Wall.

Gendry also then receives a raven that Arya is suspected to have been living beyond the Wall. He wants to ride for Winterfell to meet her, but Davos Seaworth- Gendry's right hand man- persuades him to wait until it is certain that she is alive and coming home. He also advises Gendry once again to make a match and get married to strengthen alliances, but Gendry has other ideas. He also meets with his bannermen about the bandits, and finds out that they seem to be travelling northwards.

While travelling to Winterfell Jon tells Arya of his true heritage and Arya reveals that she had suspected for some time that he wasn't who her father said he was- though not to that magnitude. She also reveals that she had met his brother once on a ship and his supposed milk brother, Edric Dayne of Starfall. Jon then shares the news that he will soon not only be King in the North but King of the Seven Kingsoms as he is to take his rightful place on the throne along with his brother Aegon, but that he will also be marrying Daenerys. Arya is happy for him, but wonders how she will ever find a place to call home when everything keeps changing.

Upon reaching Winterfell Arya finds herself overwhelmed by painful memories and flees. Jon follows after her and reassures her, before bringing her back home. She reunites with Bran which she finds disconcerting as he is so changed, and she finds it difficult to picture him as married but also the Three Eyed Raven. She also reunites with Sansa, and she realises just how much she missed her sister.

Sansa insisted on throwing a feast to celebrate Arya's home coming, and while Arya is really reluctant to go, she does. However she realises that she will never truly fit in after everything she has been through and leaves. Jon later finds her in the Crypts, sleeping on her fathers stone lap, a sight that he finds disturbing.

Arya finds herself unable to settle, and takes frequent trips out hunting alone, ranging all over the North and even further, sometimes for days and days at a time. Her proficiency with a sword shocks many people, and she disgruntles several of the household guard after soundly beating them.

Meanwhile, Gendry is beyond joyous to discover that Arya is alive and at Winterfell. Knowing that he must needs secure an alliance he writes to Jon asking for Arya's hand in marriage, assuming that Arya would also be amenable to it... but he isn't the only one. Arya is a princess in all but name and almost every available Lord has written to Jon asking for the same thing.

However there is someone else who claims that Arya's hand already belongs to him. Robb had betrothed Arya to Elmar Frey in the war, and he claims that the betrothal was still valid and therefore Arya is his by rights. Alone Jon knows that Elmar is no threat, as his house and land has been stripped... but Elmar has been reported to be spreading the word among those who oppose the Targaryen rule.

While Jon does not wish to force Arya into marriage he concedes that it is for the best, as there are many people out to get her, and Arya does not help herself by going off alone on hunting trips. However he knows that Arya does not know that Robb ever betrothed her to Elmar Frey and does not wish to sour her memory of Robb... so he does not tell her. He arranges with Gendry that he should come to Winterfell and take Arya to Storms End- for not only is Arya unknowingly unsafe in the North, but it secures his place on the throne, as the same people who oppose Targaryen Rule want a Baratheon on the throne, and Arya marrying Gendry would ensure that Gendry would never be persuaded to rebel.

Eventually Jon calls Arya to his solar and he tells her about the unrest among the Targaryen protesters but also the iron born though he omits the part about Elmar Frey stirring things up. He tells her that he has betrothed Sansa to the Lord of High Garden and has made another alliance to the Stormlands. At first Arya does not understand, but when she does she goes into a blind fury and attacks him. Jon has her sent to her chambers to ensure she will not run away and get harmed by those who are out for her.

He goes to visit her but Arya is still furious and will not listen. In the end he allows her to leave, so long as she promises to come back. Arya's time away only hardens her resolve though, and she decides that the next time Jon pushes the idea of marriage, she will leave for good.

While Arya is away, Gendry arrives at Winterfell, and Sansa, at a loss for what else to do, throws another feast. Sansa and Jon warn Gendry about how changed Arya is, but he maintains that he wants to wed her. Arya returns during the feast with a dead stag. She doesn't realise who the feast is for, but when she is dragging the carcass across the yard she hears two maids talking about the handsome lord and swooning over him. Arya finds it funny as she believes they are talking about Jon, and hoping to hear something with which she might tease him later, she listens in from the shadows... only to learn who is really in the hall.

In a panic Arya makes a dash for freedom, stealing a cart horse- the only horse in the stable that wasn't hers, in the hopes that the guards would not recognise her- and dressing as a man, she passes herself off in the darkness as a servant being sent for wine from Winter Town. She flees the castle, planning to go to Long Lake where she had previously secretly hidden her faces, on her journey to Winterfell while with Jon. She plans to take on another identity and go back beyond the Wall, as she has nowhere else to go and she feels like she can't fit in.

However back at Winterfell, Anguy- the Brotherhood is now sworn to Gendry- goes out for a piss and sees the dead stag. This could be construed as an enormous threat, and people are shocked. Anguy also says that Arya's horse is in the stable, so she must have returned at some point, but that the guards said a suspicious man left not long ago, claiming the Lord Baratheon had sent him to get more wine- which Jon and Gendry both know Gendry never did. They put it together and assemble a hunt for Arya; Gendry goes south and Jon north.

Arya's cart horse is nor particularly fit, and she didn't get as big a head start as she had hoped for. Jon and his men soon catch up and Arya goes into the wood for cover. She jumps off the horse as it is too tired to help her now, but sends it on and hides in the trees. The guards chase after the horse assuming she is still on it. After a while Arya hears a noise behind her, and fears it is one of the guards, so backs away onto the track... only for Jon to appear behind her there, Ghost having been what was in the trees.

Jon orders her to climb onto his horse and end the nonsense, but Arya refuses. It comes down to a fight, but as Arya only has Needle and Jon has Longclaw the fight is impossible; the only way for Arya to beat Jon would be to kill him, which she could do, but obviously is not going to do. She knows that even if she disarms him he can just chase after her on his horse; despite realising she has no chance, Arya keeps fighting. As a last resort Jon knocks her out. He regrets doing it and hates that he did do it, but knows that it was necessary for her safety and the safety of the realm.

She awakes groggy and confused in Jon's lap as they are riding back to Winterfell, and she thinks he is the Hound after he knocked her out at the Red Wedding. She reveals that part of her past to Jon unwittingly and tells him about her list. When she comes to a second time she does not remember it. She argues with Jon the entire way, but he will not relent, though he does apologise and says he wishes he had another choice. Once they return to Winterfell he has her locked in her chambers.

Gendry returns to Winterfell, somewhat pissed off, and Sansa goes to her chambers to fetch her... only she isn't there, and the window is open. However once Sansa calls all of the guards to go and search for her, Arya crawls out of her hiding place, having tricked them into thinking she had escaped when she hadn't. She manages to get out of the castle and into the Wolfs Wood near Winter Town, but she see's an enormous figure riding a huge horse; Arya assumes it is Lord Baratheon but she does not know that it is Gendry, as Gendry had not told Jon he knew Arya.

She throws a rock to distract him and he goes after the noise. Arya goes deeper into the woods but hears something and stumbles backwards away from it, thinking it was either Lord Baratheon himself or Jon warging through Ghost. Unbeknown to Arya it is actually Nymeria, who is leading Gendry to her.

She backs into a clearing of ponds and swamps and tall reeds just as Gendry rides into the clearing. She ducks down into the grass and crawls away only to back into Nymeria. Thinking it was Lord Baratheon Arya flinches away- and promptly falls backwards into one of the shallow ponds. When she emerges Gendry is there, but she still does not recognise him.

He lifts her out, commending her attempt at escape, but Arya grabs his own knife and holds it to his chest... but Gendry grabs her hand and uses his strength to turn it away with ease, cutting Arya in the process. With no weapon and no means to fight him Gendry forces Arya onto his horse and takes her back to Winterfell, unable to believe it is truly her.

He takes her straight to Jon and after a moment of teasing her he somewhat reveals his identity. Arya recognises him and is happy to see him... but thinks the entire marriage thing was a joke. When Gendry and Jon explain that it isn't and she is still betrothed to him, Arya leaves the room, though she doesn't try to escape as she knows it is futile.

The following morning Arya says her farewells to Sansa, and Jon... she is still furious at Jon, but she plans to escape Gendry and then never return, so is painfully aware that this is the last time she will ever see her brother. With this in mind she says good bye; Jon thinks for just a few months, Arya planning for it to be the last time. Traditionally a lady will be gifted a piece of jewellery or books or something upon her leaving for marriage, but Jon points out that he would rather keep to their own tradition by giving her a sword. He gives her a lost relic of Visenya Targaryen, her valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister.

Gendry comes to greet her but she ignores him and goes straight to her horse. As they leave Winterfell they bicker, and Arya says that she will always care for him as they were friends before, but that there is nothing else. Gendry is more optimistic.

As they leave, Jon watches them, feeling guilty about what he has done and hoping Arya will forgive him, although he only did it to protect her. He visits the godswood in the hopes of finding some comfort there, but finds Bran instead, which makes him slightly uncomfortable. He asks Bran if he knows Arya's past, and Bran replies that he does. Jon already knows the answer, but ask if Bran could tell him anyway, to which Bran responds that Arya is the only one who can.

As they travel Gendry and Arya argue quite a lot, though it is warmer than before. Feeling guilty that Arya is so angry at Jon, Gendry tells her about Elmar Frey and the reasons Jon had for sending her south; that she would be further away from Elmar Frey and his supporters, that if she was wed to another lord Elmar might stop trying to raise a rebellion and he didn't want to spoil her view of Robb. Arya wants to go back to Jon but Gendry refuses, saying it is near dark and he promised Jon that he would get her to safety. This irritates Arya, as she can look after herself, but she doesn't argue. Gendry says that they are still betrothed and the marriage is supposed to still go forward, but he won't force her to marry him if she does not wish to, but that he must still take her south to Storms End under the guise of it. Feeling less trapped, Arya decides that she will not run away as it was not what she originally thought it was.

The Baratheon Company stop to stay at Moat Cailin and Arya leaves to practice with Dark Sister, as she has not had the chance to use it yet and it requires a very different style to the one she is used to. Gendry notices she is missing from camp and rides after her. He catches her practising and watches for a while. He reveals himself and they talk about their swords. They spar together and while Arya is far more skilful Gendry narrowly beats her, using his experience, size and strength. They talk together for a while about how they trained to fight, though Arya says nothing about her time with the Faceless Guild or anything else, choosing to keep it secret- though she briefly mentions that she trained herself to fight in the dark.

They ride back to camp together and end up arguing about why Arya doesn't wish to marry. She says that it would take away all of her freedoms and that it isn't her as she is not a lady. She also says that he would want to have children one day, and she doesn't want any. He asks why and she repeats that it isn't her, and that after everything she and her siblings endured after losing their parents, she wouldn't want to bring another child into the world. She also says that she had never even considered marriage or children until Jon brought it up a few weeks ago, so the concept of settling down is strange after spending her life with no solid plan for the future.

Gendry points out that it sounds like she is adverse to marriage and children but not to him specifically, to which she agrees... in a manner, as while he is not the issue, any relationship they did have would always be difficult as he would want more and she wouldn't. Gendry says that he doesn't want her to wear dresses or sew or be a lady, that he doesn't care about any of that. He asks if he has a chance at winning her around, a play on her own words from before, and she dryly agrees, but that he won't succeed. He asks if she would be willing to make a wager: if he can get her to say that she loves him within a years time she will marry him, and if she doesn't say it then he will help her with her future pursuits at becoming a Kings Guard for Jon or whatever else she might choose. She agrees and the deal is made.

Meanwhile, Arya's relationship with the ex Brotherhood members is strained, having reunited on the journey. While they were always kind to her Arya finds it difficult to get past the fact that they held her hostage and planned to ransom her, and later to sell her to the highest bidder. She understands why they did it, but finds it hard to forgive them for it, though she does begin to warm up to them again slowly.

While at Moat Cailin, Gendry convinces Arya to train his squire, an orphaned stable boy called Jayce, a youth of about 13 years. At first she is reluctant, as she says she is the wrong kind of person to train future knights, but Gendry persuades her. He also inadvertently insults Water Dancing and she decides to prove him wrong by teaching Jayce. The boy is delighted at the prospect of learning how to sword fight, especially from a master like Arya. He used to be in awe of Gendry, but as he spends more time with Arya he begins to see her as a new role model, though Gendry suspects briefly that the boy also has a fancy for Arya, which prompts a discussion that Arya is closer in age to Jayce than she is to Gendry, though this is later on.

Initially Jayce is confused by the tasks that Arya sets him, similar to the ones Syrio taught her all those years ago, but he still does them. Arya assesses his skills, and while he has absolutely none whatsoever at that point, she is pleased to see that he has good instinct, quick reflexes and a willingness to learn. She sets him to chasing rabbits and until he catches one she will not give him another lesson. Gendry is rather disapproving of her teaching methods, and the way she was quite rough as he learnt a very different way. Arya promises him that she will make a master of Jayce if he butts out and lets her get on with it.

Meanwhile, down in Kings Landing, Dany and Aegon have a brief discussion about Arya being on the way to the Stormlands and how it will hopefully save another war. Aegon comments that the sooner Arya gets knocked up the better, as a Stark x Baratheon heir would prevent uprisings, but the comment makes Dany silently sad as she doesn't think she can have children.

A few weeks later- its a very long journey- the Baratheon company finally make it to Greywater Watch, held by the Reed family. Bran's wife, Meera, is there, and when they meet Arya and her become fast friends, and Arya later reflects that Meera is her first friend forged through want rather than need since she was a young child. However before they get there, they must cross the waters in a small rowing boat, as the castle sits upon a floating crannog.

In the boat Arya and Gendry discuss Gendry's past and some of what happened to him, including his interaction with Stannis and Melisandre. He tells her of how Melisandre seduced him (which makes Arya somewhat jealous, though she can not identify the feeling and is confused) and that she took blood. He says how Davos helped him to escape, but when Arya asks why Melisandre wanted his blood they are interrupted, for which Gendry is thankful.

Posted sentinel guards on miniature crannogs light fires to show them the way, and when they are docking Gendry sees Arya smirking and promises that if she pushes him in the water he will take her down with him. They greet Lady Reed and Meera, before going to the small feast that has been prepared for them. Arya is saddened to hear of Howland Reed's death, as she had hoped they might talk about her father. Gendry spouts off about their time at Harrenhal, partly because he is upset at her for rejecting his attempts to comfort her. Arya becomes uncomfortable with the discussion and they argue, in which Gendry goes too far and Arya stabs him with a fork before storming off.

Gendry and Lady Reed talk about Arya while she cleans his hand up and he reflects that he is surprised by the damage Arya could do with a fork. He tells Lady Reed that Arya only lashes out like that when she is afraid of something, whether she knows that herself or not. He then goes in search of her, as she can't have gone far whilst on a crannog.

He finds her sitting at the waters edge in the moonlight and it reminds him of the night when he caught her escaping and she fell in the pond. It also makes him think of a song about a maid with moonglow in her hair. He sits down and she voluntarily takes his hand, which surprises him as Arya never touches people voluntarily. She apologizes and admits that she should not have done it. Gendry says that it is ok, but she says that it isn't. He concurs after a moment and say that while it isn't ok, he understands.

Arya admits that she struggles with containing her violent impulses because for years they were the difference between life and death. She worries that after all of the things she has seen and done she has lost something of herself. Gendry does not fully understand her comment, but Arya is thinking of her time with the Faceless Guild and how she very nearly lost herself completely. They then discuss everything that happened the night Arya went missing from the Brotherhood, and Gendry surprises Arya by telling her he knows about the Hound.

Arya says that for a long time she had hated the Hound, but that after a while she and him had become grudging partners, and that he had taught her a lot. She admits that while she never missed the Brotherhood as she had never trusted them, she HAD missed him as he had meant a lot to her, even if he had left her to become a knight. He apologizes for hurting her and that he hadn't meant to, and she says she knows. They hold hands in the silence, watching the moon, letting their silence say everything they needed.

The next morning things are a little awkward between them. Arya means to go to breakfast early, partly to avoid him and partly because she wants to go down to the rest of camp. Gendry has similar ideas, though because he needs to go and see how camp is getting on. They talk awkwardly, and then Gendry ends up probing too deep and Arya lashes out. They have another argument, and then semi make up, through Arya threatening him after tricking him. They row together to the camp, and talk about a good time they once had with the brotherhood, before comparing hand sizes. It leads to a small water fight in which Gendry ends up drenching Arya completely. She promises retribution.

They get to camp and talk idly about Jayce and his progress, and then share a bit of a moment, before Arya is distracted and leaves. Anguy talks to Gendry about his relationship with Arya, and then they go to meet the Brotherhood members. Arya meanwhile, training Jayce, is confused about her feelings in regard to Gendry, as she cares for him and he makes her feel strange, but Arya finds it difficult to understand and recognise her emotions- something she has struggled with since the trauma she faced as a child and then the time she spent at the House of Black and White.

She returns back to camp and over hears Gendry talking with the Brotherhood about an incredibly beautiful woman he once loved. Gendry is actually telling them about Melisandre, not knowing Arya is listening, as he is worried that Arya will find out about what Melisandre used his blood for. Arya does not hear that part as she storms off to the boats, angry. Again, she is confused about her feelings, and why she is angry. She also feels slightly inadequate as the red headed woman makes her picture Sansa, who she always felt lesser than as children. Gendry comes back and sees her throwing knives.

They briefly argue, as Gendry does not understand why she is angry at him this time. Arya attempts to row the boat but is not strong enough, which makes her angry and frustrated. He takes the oars and then asks what it is all about, and she tells hims he is not a child. Arya often feels as though people still view her as a child due to her age and stature. Gendry assures her that he doesn't, but she is not massively comforted. She asks him to stop treating her like a child, but he disagrees as he does not see his protectiveness as treating her as a child. They make a deal that Arya is allowed to go off alone without being watched, so long as it is not far and she lets someone know, and that Arya will ride with him at the front of the company rather than at the back like some prisoner. Arya then capsizes the boat, as she had promised she would get him back for earlier, but Gendry also promised that if she pushed him in then he would take her with him. The boat ends up turning upside down with them beneath it in the lake. They very nearly kiss, but last minute Arya dunks him under the water and swims away.

Meanwhile, at Cape Kraken, darker winds are brewing. Elmar Frey meets with Euron Greyjoy and proposes an alliance; that they work together to get what they want. While Elmar Frey himself is not a threat, Euron recognises that he can use the boy for his own ends. He listen to what Elmar has to say. Elmar plans that the iron born take three or four ships to Sharp Point so that Gendry will be forced to leave Storms End and fight, leaving Arya at the castle. While Gendry is away with the majority of his army the rest of the iron born will take Storms End. Elmar would forcibly wed Arya and if Gendry died in battle then Elmar would inherit his titles as Lord of Storms End through Arya. He would then always keep Storms End open to the Iron Born so that they had a stance on the mainland from which to hold their base, so that they could ignite a rebellion fully.

Euron thinks the boy is a fool, and plans on killing him once the deed is done and taking Arya Stark for himself, but for now he agrees to it, planning on using Elmar as a cover for his own plans.

Gendry's out riders find out that Elmar was seen with the iron born and report back to Gendry, who immediately worries there is some sort of plan to launch an attack, as Cape Kraken is not far. He worries that their plan is to wait for Arya alone and then take her back to Elmar so that Elmar can wed her and become more powerful again. He has Greenbeard set up a watch for Arya, so that she is never alone. He also sends a raven to Jon and another to Kings Landing to warn them that the iron men have been meeting with Elmar. He decides that they will leave Greywater Watch three days hence and he sends out a further thirty outriders just to be certain, wanting to put as many leagues between them and the iron men as possible.

Meanwhile Arya has gone out fresh water fishing with Meera, as they have become steady friends. They talk about Bran and Gendry respectively and Meera points out that Gendry seems to really care for Arya, which sets Arya deep into thought about her own feelings for the man. They then hear someone coming towards them and get ready to attack, but it is only Anguy, having been sent by Gendry to watch Arya under the guise of shooting a deer for the dinner table that night as a thank you to Lady Reed for her hospitality... but Anguy and Arya end up in a competition. Meera heads back to camp as she must needs send a raven to Bran before it is too late that she will be riding back to Winterfell within the week.

Arya and Anguy get into a challenge, shooting bows and throwing knives, heading farther out into the woods. When Gendry sees Meera and not Arya he ass where she is; when he finds out about their foolishness he is wroth at them both for their recklessness. He rides out to find them, and allows Jayce to tag along.

When he finds them he bollocks Anguy for being irresponsible and sends him off with Jayce to get a deer. As Arya does not have a horse he tells her to share his with him, but Arya, furious that he is treating her like a child again, argues. He eventually forces her onto the horse, and after a few minutes he apologises and asks if she trusts him, to which she replies that she does, but wishes that he would stop treating her like an incapable child. He then tells her about Elmar Frey meeting the iron born- Arya knew the iron born were on the verge of rebellion as Jon had told her before at Winterfell- and that is why he got so worried about her being out alone. She doesn't think that the threat is that significant and dismisses it, which makes Gendry angry as she has no concern for her own safety.

Arya lets him blow off his steam and then asks who is leading the iron born as she had thought all of House Greyjoy had died in the war. Gendry tells her that Euron Crows Eye is the one who is leading them, and Arya freezes. When Gendry asks what is wrong Arya replies that she had thought him dead, and he correctly deduces that she had known him once before, which Arya confirms, before reluctantly and briefly telling him that Euron had captured her years ago and sold her as a slave. The news makes Gendry wroth and he essentially goes nuts, but makes her promise that she will not go after him. Arya lies and says that she won't but she is already secretly planning how to kill him, as he had been on her prayer before she had heard he died. Arya also makes Gendry swear not to tell Jon as he will undoubtedly do something stupid as he is so protective of her, but also because she wants to be the one to kill Euron.

Arya and Gendry leave Greywater Watch together and argue on the boat. Gendry reminds her that when they ride out she is to ride with him as he does not want her going far from his sight in light of recent events. Arya is pissed off and points out that she can defend herself. Gendry says that while yes, she can, and her water dancing has its merits, it is no true match for a real fight. Arya gets pissed off at him again and attempts to explain what water dancing is, but he doesn't seem to understand. She gets irritated and states that he would be rubbish at it because he is so big.

When the company is ready to leave Arya makes her way to her customary spot, at the back of the knights, but Gendry stops her and drags her up to the front with him. When Arya looks at the entire company following from behind she wonders if that is what Robb saw when he lead his army. Gendry then pulls a stunt on his horse when he shouts down to his men, and it sets off Arya's incredibly spirited mare, Astrid. The rest of the day is extremely difficult as Astrid is so strong.

When Arya gets off her hands are all cut up from holding the reins and her back and neck and stiff from the train. She is angry at Gendry for his stupid decision, but he ignores her insults and proceeds to lead her to the river to cool her sore hands while he massages her neck, something that Arya has never had done before and is shocked by how odd it feels. She asks where he learnt to do it and he tells her about how he used to do it for the other apprentices at the forge. She then asks him to tell her about his life, and he admits there isn't much to say but does so anyway.

They go to one of the camp fires and Gendry asks about her life before they met. Arya tells him briefly as the memory of it is something she has spent years trying to forget as it caused her so much pain. Just then Jayce comes over with a cooked rabbit that he had caught, and shares it with them, effectively lightening the mood.

Later that night Arya makes an attempt at reconnecting with the Brotherhood and as she approaches them she recognises a tune that Tom'O'Sevens was playing. She and they talk for a while, and when they ask what songs she knows she admits her life has not led her down a path where she has time for music. She asks what the song was, and that she recognises it, so Tom plays it for her, and she finds her self mouthing the words. It is the song about the lord and lady of the leaves. When she says she likes the song the Brotherhood share a look, and Anguy says that he isn't surprised that she likes it. Tom asks if she knows any other song, and she says she remembers one about a lady riding a horse. They laugh and Tom plays it- a very bawdy and crude song that makes her blush straight away.

Gendry comes over and puts a stop to the song, saying "not in front of milady." He tells them to get a good nights rest as they will be leaving first light. Arya goes and grabs her sleeping furs and takes them off to the edge of the woods, a bit away from the camp, irritated as she could not find her ground sheets.

Gendry finds her, irritated at her for going off alone again, and rolls out his own furs. After a few minutes he notices that she is cold and she tells him she has no ground sheets. He invites her to share his furs to keep warm. At first she is reluctant, but then agrees. Lying in his furs she warms up and realizes that she feels happy and safe in Gendry's arms, and the close contact causes her to feel a warmth in her belly that was nothing to do with the furs, and confuses her. He asks her to tell him something about her life so she thinks for a minute and then tells him about the time her father watched her practising archery but didn't tell her off. He asks what happens next and she replies "he died" before rolling over and pretending to sleep. Gendry goes to sleep soon after, and Arya does too eventually, but has a terrible nightmare.

Gendry wakes up to to her crying and shouting in her sleep, and tries to calm her. The noise wakes Lem who comes over to she if she is alright, but Gendry sends him away saying she is just having a nightmare. She eventually calms down but Gendry doesn't go back to sleep, in case she wakes up in a nightmare again. He thinks about what could have happened to give her such terrible dreams, and wonders what to do about Euron- as in her sleep she had been shouting that she would kill him- and reflects that he is glad he sent a raven to Jon informing him of Arya and Euron's past, and that he knows Arya was lying about not going after Euron.

They soon make it to the Twins at the Crossing, and though it is for the most part abandoned, it still has a dark reputation. Arya feels a mixture of emotions at being there, as it is the place her family was murdered... but also the place where she had killed all of the Freys. The place makes her uneasy and unsettled. Gendry asks her if she wants to go down there, but Arya declines and rides off up to the top of a hill and into the tree line. She doesn't remember the nightmare, so Gendry says nothing.

He gives her time to herself and then comes up to join her. He attempts to comfort her... but they end up arguing again about their betrothal, though Arya does partially admit her feelings for him. As the evening turns to night Gendry asks her what it was like to live in the north, beyond the Wall. She tells him about it, recognising that he is trying to distract her from her thoughts about what happened at the Twins. She tells him of the time she ventured into the unmapped Land of Always Winter and almost died from the brutality of the place, for there was no living thing for hundreds of miles. She tells him about how she also had to kill a White Walker using a crude dragonglass knife she found in an abandoned village. He asks if she still has it, and she says no, its still at Winterfell as she didn't have a chance to pack. It reminds her that she also left her faces behind in a concealed notch in her room, and hopes that no one has found them.

Gendry then asks about what Braavos was like and how she survived there so... she twists the truth a little bit, and tells him she took the name of Cat and then as Mercy and worked with the mummers. He asks why she left, and she said that she had no choice. She lies and said that she found out that Cersei had sent the Faceless Men after her. She tells him that she then really screwed up by killing Raff the Sweetling, and Izambaro cast her out. With nowhere to go she tried to flee, and hesitantly tells him about how she was attacked and nearly died.

Gendry moves around and lifts up her shirt slowly to see the wound, and is horrified by the terrifying wound left, a mess of scars that never really healed and still split open every now and then. She tells him that she tricked the assassin and killed her before escaping. Gendry is still so horrified that he leans his forehead against hers and apologises for everything that happened to her. She tells him to shut up, and then he kisses her for the first time. It is innocent and soft, but it terrifies Arya because she realizes that she cares or him a lot, which isn't her. They soon lie down to sleep, but Arya is so torn up and confused that she can't.

Back at Winterfell Jon reads the raven that Gendry sent about Arya being sold as a slave by Euron. He is horrified and immediately wants to call war down on Euron but the situation is difficult, and he knows it would lead to more trouble, as Euron was pardoned on the grounds of his aid during the war, so Jon can't go back on it because Arya was one of the slaves. He knows that to get Euron he must trap him first, and decides to wait until he goes to Kings Landing where he knows someone who is a mastermind at entrapment schemes.

Meanwhile, Arya finds herself so conflicted by the kiss that she gets up and decides to go down to the Twins alone, partly to clear her head, partly through need to do something risky, partly because she feels she needs to see the place that her family died. She takes Astrid and goes down there. She gets into the castle and is able to remember her way from the underground kitchens up to the great hall where her family died, as she learned the lay out when she posed as a servant there to kill Walder Frey and his sons. When she gets into the hall she sees a shadow that does not belong to her, and realizes that there is someone else in the castle with her, someone that does not want to be seen by her or to attack her.

Gendry wakes up alone, Jayce having woken him. He knows that Arya must have gone to the Twins, and follows her down, calling the brotherhood to ready themselves and follow as soon as possible, while he rides on ahead.

At the same time Arya hears the doors to the hall, where she is, slam shut, and realizes that someone is planning an attack, or else why would they lock the doors against her from the outside. She also notes that there must be more than one as the shadow had been at the other end of the hall. She chooses her best option of escape and goes back the way she came. She hears something and looks out of the nearest window; a lone rider. Arya assumes that its back up, and sees them head to the kitchen, cutting off her escape, so she goes back the other way. This leads to her getting into a fight with the attackers; she kills several but gets overwhelmed last minute...

...Gendry gets into the castle as the fight begins, and kills several of the men before going upstairs to Arya. She is pinned beneath a man, and he is threatening her. Gendry kills him swiftly, and picks Arya up. He is relieved that she is alright, but then gets angry at her for deliberately going against his instructions and ignoring his warnings about the castle. Arya is irritated that he came after her, not because he saved her but because he assumed she needed saving. She tells him it would be better the continue the argument elsewhere in case there are more.

They come across one of the men that Arya had stabbed, still alive, but barely. Arya questions him and agrees to give him mercy. He doesn't really help at all and Arya kills him before whispering "Valar Morghulis". Gendry is shocked that she killed him so coldly after saying she would give him mercy, but she argues that she did give it to him.

They get out of the castle and start fighting. Gendry oversteps, and Arya punched him, but breaks her left wrist- her fighting wrist. He apologizes for what he said, but he maintains that he had the right of it. Arya cools down and just as they are about to leave there is a sound of hooves. Assuming the worst, Gendry tells Arya to leave him and ride to safety, but she refuses. It turns out to be the Brotherhood, finally arriving though somewhat late. Arya can't believe he thought her so incompetent that he summoned the whole lot, and rides off in a fury.

For the next few weeks Arya and Gendry barely speak, Gendry because he is still furious that she risked her life like that and refuses to admit it, and Arya because she is mad that he still treats her like a child, and is now having her escorted around the clock by a guard. They come to the the Crossroads Inn and Gendry rides up to Arya's guard, and, ignoring Arya, tells him to take her straight to her room and stay outside the door to make sure that there are no little accidents, which infuriates Arya. She asks if he's really sending her off to her room now, and he simply replies "yes" before riding away. Arya makes to ride after him in fury but Harwin stops her.

As they arrive in the yard Arya notices Gendry with two girls that he seems awfully familiar with, and gets angry. She goes to her room and her guard follows. There she gets and idea, and later leaves, her guard following reluctantly. She finds two branches and strips them of bark. She takes them to the forge... only to see that Gendry is inside. She hesitates and then goes straight to a table with her poles. A few moments later Gendry comes over and inspects the poles, correctly deducing that they are sparring staffs. They talk civilly and Gendry shows her what he has been working on, a pair of leather gauntlets to support her wrists. Arya has never had armour before, simply because she has never prioritised it. They talk a little, and then make up, making a deal that Arya will stop risking her life and Gendry will get rid of her escorts. They end up kissing, for the second time, more heated than the first time.

The next morning Arya goes down to breakfast early, where she spies the famed bloodstains. They throw her back to when they had been made, when she had been there with the hound and they had killed the Lannister men. How she had stabbed the Tickler over and over and over, leaving the one stain, and how she had killed a squire who had clawed across the floor, leaving the other set of stains. Gendry and Willow Heddle come over and are talking when they notice Arya's distraction. Arya waves off Gendry's concern, not wanting to talk about it.

Following breakfast, Arya trains Jayce in the small grit yard outside. She is a master with staffs, as it is how she is trained at the House of Black and White while blinded. She holds back on him a lot, but he is still left wheezing, bruised and bleeding. Arya has a no holding back policy.

Gendry stops her and says that it wasn't really necessary to be so rough on him. Arya argues that it was how she was taught. They argue and Gendry ends up insulting Water Dancing again. Arya gets angry and says it is better than his way, and that he learned the same way she did he would be even better now than he already was. He says that it is stupid, so she challenges him to a fight, which he accepts.

As they are about to start Gendry proposes a wager, that if he wins she will ride pillion with him once they reach the Stormlands and if she wins he won't interfere with Jayce's training. She agrees. During the fight she holds back, not wanting to humiliate him in front of his men, but she still beats him with relative ease... but then she gets distracted. Without knowing what it was, Arya could sense Nymeria, who was nearby, and looks up just as the horses take fright, also sensing Nymeria's presence. While she is distracted Gendry flips her over and disarms her, thus winning the fight.

He teases her about it and then kisses her rather forcibly in front of everyone. Arya, angry and humiliated, does not really want to be kissed, but Gendry, giddy with happiness, does not seem to realize until he feels her knife at his throat. He steps back, confused, an Arya storms off into the woods. Gendry then gets mad because he won and thinks that she is being difficult about it, not understanding that she is upset for a myriad of reasons.

He talks to Jeyne Heddle, the elder sister, and she tells him how stupid he has been. She tells him that Arya had clearly been holding back for his benefit, and that she had already technically won, as she had him on his back with her staff on his chest, though she hadn't bothered to disarm him. She then tells him that the last thing Arya would have wanted was for him to kiss her in front of everyone, after beating her at her own game. Gendry realised that he has been an idiot, and Jeyne advises that he go and find her.

On his way he sees Jayce, who is dabbing at a bloody lip. He goes over and they talk for a minute lightly, but Jayce is clearly a little put out by the way that Gendry treated Arya, and Gendry admits he regrets it, but that the fight hadn't technically been over as he still had his staff in hand. He then asks what it was that had spooked the horses, thus distracting Arya. Jayce said it was something in the woods, which is where Arya has gone off alone. Gendry worries as it could have been spies from Elmar or Euron, or even wild dogs or wolves. He goes to find her in the half dark.

Meanwhile Arya is brooding about everything deep in the woods, angry at herself more than anything. She sees an owl and skin changes into it. While she is flying she sees two men riding her way, and follows them. They see her human body all motionless, but thankfully choose not to go near it, fearing it is a dead body as it is so still. They talk about needing to go back and meet with the others, to see if the other group has joined them yet. When they are gone Arya phases back into herself and heads back to the inn, deciding not to tell Gendry because she knows he will only become even more protective of her.

On the way Arya hears a horse and, thinking it might be one of the spies, hides. She gets yanked from her place suddenly though, and reacts by pressing her knife to the attackers throat- but it is only Gendry. They argue for a moment, and then Gendry apologises for being an ass. Arya forgives him and admits that she overreacted. They ride together back to the inn. Gendry asks her about what had disturbed her earlier at breakfast and she tells him. They talk briefly about Harrenhal, and the things they suffered there. Gendry explains how he knew the Heddle sisters from his time there, before Melisandre took him.

Arya makes him promise again not to tell Jon about the things that happened to her, because she knows that he will not react well. Gendry says "you love him, don't you?" and she simply replies "i do." Not wanting to talk about Jon, Arya asks him about who he had had before, people he cared about. When he says nothing she prompts him about the red haired woman. Gendry is confused and she explains how she heard him talking to the brotherhood about it. He explains warily that it was Melisandre.

He tells her the tale of what Melisandre used him for, and what she did with the blood, thereby telling her that Robb died because Melisandre used his royal blood to kill him. Arya is stunned and doesn't know how to react to the information. In her travels Arya has had experience with blood magic, so she knows its powers... but she doesn't want to think of it like that. She tells Gendry that she doesn't blame him, but shortly after leaves to go to bed, where she has unsettling dreams about Robbs death.

For the next few days she avoids Gendry, not because she is mad at him , but because she doesn't know what to say or how to act. They leave the inn and when they stop that day, Arya takes herself off to the woods and decides to burn charcoal. Gendry comes by and wipes mud from her cheek, before she asks if he wants to do the other side of the pit. He seems happy at the invitation and then Arya tells him that she is sorry she has been avoiding him, but she just needed to sort out her thoughts. She assures him that in no way does she blame him for what happens, and then kisses him- the first time that she has been the one to kiss him first.

Meanwhile, Jon and Sansa have just set sail from Whiteharbour for Kings Landing. Jon tells Sansa bout the raven from Gendry about Arya's time in slavery, and the two agree that something is coming. They also agree that it would be better if Arya did not know about Euron and Elmar- not knowing that Gendry has already told her.

Back at camp Arya and Gendry talk about Storms End, and Gendry tells her of his plans to find the raiders and bandits that had been essentially ruling his land for years and killing them. He and Arya talk again about their betrothal, though Arya does not fight it so much, as she is beginning to accept that she has developed feelings for Gendry.

That night Arya wargs into Nymeria, who has sneaked into camp to steal some food, but gets seen and attacked. Arya wakes up, still half warged into Nymeria, and as she feels the wolfs panic, runs straight to the commotion without a sword or even boots. Gendry runs after her and catches her, but sees how terrified she is and lets her go. Arya arrives at the scene just in time, as Nymeria nearly kills a man who is threatening her. She stops the wolf by warging into her, her body falling to the ground as she hadn't prepared and had done it instinctively. Gendry has seen Jon do it with Ghost and is surprised at how powerful Arya is.

She wakes up and rides off on Nymeria. Gendry recognises her need for escape and allows her to go. Arya ides west on Nymeria, not really focusing on where she is going, but as they do so they come across a group of spies from Elmar and Euron. Arya sneaks up close to listen to what they are saying. She hears them talking about her attackers from the Twins and how they had been paid to wait for her. She gets caught though and there is a fight. Arya manages to escape on Nymeria just in time, telling the two she left alive to tell their lord that Arya Stark was coming for him.

She rides back to camp to tell Gendry. He is so relieved to see her he kisses her without seeing the state she is in. When he finds out what happens he is furious that she risked her life for something so pointless. He tells her that he already knew that they were being followed and had wanted Euron and Elmar to think he didn't know. They make up and Arya agrees reluctantly that she won't do it again.

As the Baratheon Company near Brindlewood, a few days ride from Kings Landing, Jon and Sansa arrive at the Red Keep. They go up to see Daenerys and reunite. Jon is anxious too see Arya again, as he does not know that Gendry has told her everything, and thinks that she must surely hate him.

Arya and Gendry arrive at Kings Landing and ride through the city. A Gold Cloak attacks a little boy, and Arya stops him and hits him with his own staff before checking on the child and offering the mother to pay for any medical bills. She also says that when he is old enough to wield a sword, should he want to, then he should come to her. This earns her the respect of the small folk, though she does not realize.

They finally get to the Red Keep and Arya is stopped by Jon while looking for Sansa. She punches him in the gut, and then hugs him, and tells him that Gendry told her everything. She reunites with Sansa, and realises that she missed her more than she had thought. When Daenerys comes over she is shocked at Arya and clearly recognises her, but Arya hints that she would rather the others didn't hear it now.

Gendry asks her about what it was about, but she does not answer. She goes with Sansa to prepare for the feast that she grudgingly has to attend. Gendry comes in while she is in a towel, Sansa having gone to get a dress. He tells her that the Ghost of High Heart Hill has been seen at Duskendale, and while she doesn't really show it, she is shocked and disturbed by the information.

Meanwhile, Jon asks Dany what had happened earlier and she tells him that she Arya had saved her life once before in Meereen. Jon asks what she means and she explains to him that at some point Arya had been made a slave, a pit fighter. That one day there had been a rebellion and Arya had saved Dany's life thrice over. Jon is horrified by the knowledge that his little sister was a gladiator slave.

Arya goes down to the feast with Sansa, uncomfortable with the attention she draws. Gendry tells her she looks beyond beautiful, and she thinks he is teasing her, so storms off, skirts at her hips showing off her hunting boots as she refused to wear heels.

She runs into Jon, who seems slightly off and he and her talk about her saving the boy in the city. He asks her to save him a dance, and then leaves to begin the feast, which Arya knows he hates as much as she does. She waits for a while, brooding, and then goes back to the hall to find that everyone has started and she is late. She talks between Gendry and Tyrion, and then Gendry persuades her to dance with him. She finds she actually enjoys it, which she didn't think she would. Gendry is even worse at dancing than she is, which she finds amusing and so does he. He has to leave at the end to speak to Greenbeard, as apparently a group of bandits that fit the description of the Stormlands bandits have been seen heading northwards.

Arya heads to go and get a drink and meets with a face from her past, Aegon Targaryen, though she knew him as Young Griff and he knew her as Cat of the Canals. He asks her to dance, so she does- though only when he pushes the whole "lol you wouldn't defy a king now would ye?" They catch up briefly as friends and then Aegon asks what happened to her after Lorath. Arya makes him swear not to tell anyone about what happened to her, which he does reluctantly.

Arya is about to leave again when Jon stops her and reminds her that she promised him a dance, and that he needs to talk to her. After a few minutes he asks her why she didn't tell him. When Arya doesn't say anything he says that Dany told him. Arya and him argue about it, and she tells him that she isn't his anymore, before leaving, running out of the hall.

In a panic Arya feels exposed and unable to process what happened, and decides that it is best if she leaves. She escapes the castle, but knows that they will come after her, so she drops the bolt on the inside of her room and climbs out of the window.

Gendry returns to the feast and is surprised and confused at the drama. He finds Sansa talking to a man she introduces as Harold Hardying, and points him to Jon, Dany and Aegon. Confused, Gendry goes after them and asks what is going on and where Arya is. The three Targaryens share their parts of the story' Aegon about how he met her as Cat, Dany about how Arya saved her in the pits, and Jon... just kinda glowers at everyone. Dany says that she can not be certain, as the girl she remembered had horrific scars across her face, which Arya does not have. Gendry can see the sense in the story but he is reluctant to believe it. Aegon points out that Arya, being Arya, is likely leaving at that very moment to try and do something stupid and reckless. Jon has the guards seal off the gates.

By the early hours of the following morning Arya comes to a cross road. She has ridden away from the city with a plan- not to kill Euron, she knows that it would be impossible to kill him properly. With him at sea on a ship, Arya knows her only way to kill him would be to poison him anonymously, which is not how she wants it to happen. Instead she rides to another place that she hopes might be able to help her: Duskendale.

After seeing Jon being on the verge of madness, Gendry goes to Arya's chambers, where everyone believes she has locked herself in. He shouts for her to come out and talk, and when she does not reply he barges the door down... to find that she isn't in there. He knows immediately that she has escaped, before leaving to inform Jon of her empty chambers.

Arya arrives in Duskendale and immediately notices the way the whole place seems on edge as if they have suffered recent attacks; Arya is not surprised as the town is prosperous in wealth, and the Rosby Road north of Duskendale is frequented by bandits and thieves. She leaves Astrid at an inn and pays a man to tell her where the Ghost of High Heart is. She follows the trail and finds the cave where the dwarf woman has been living.

The dwarf recognises her immediately and says she will tell her what she needs to know but only if she promises to give her something in return. Arya s=asks what, though she already knows the answer; the woman replies that she wishes for the gift that Arya was trained to give. Arya agrees, and the woman takes her blood and tells her the following:

 _"You have taken your revenge on those who have wronged you, and your blade drips with their blood. Your sword will make the tower crumble, and the crow that swims will drown. Your heart, though black with death, already beats again, but whether you allow it is up to you. The path you choose will not be clear, and should you choose wrong your heart will turn to stone. Should the tall black mountain of revenge be what drives you, what should have come before will bleed. The storm is coming for you, and you must either run from it or embrace it. The choice is yours."_

The old woman seems to go crazy, and Arya kills her swiftly. In her last moments the dwarf remarks that it feels warmer than she expected, like Jenny's laughter. She then dies. Arya flees the cave, disturbed by the woman's prophesy.

She gets back to Duskendale in an hour less than it took her to hike there, and goes to get Astrid. As she is talking to the stable boy- who is actually older than her- there is a scream. Arya is on the alarm immediately and peers around the corner to see what is happening. She sees a group of men in mismatched armour wielding cheap weapons, and surmises that they are bandits. She turns back to the stable boy, Olyvar, and he tells her that they attack often, from the pass between Duskendale and Rosby. Arya assesses the situation and decides to try and help the women and children escape, as according to Olyvar the bandits only ever come for gold.

She kills two men and then hides behind a large stone watering trough, having told Olyvar to ready the horses. She peers around the corner and sees an enormous man, clad in all black armour. She watches as he kills one of his own men by smacking his head on the wall for talking. She assumes that they are Gendry's bandits, the ones that had been attacking the Stormlands, as the black knight fits Greenbeard's description.

The black knight begins walking towards her and Arya, having nowhere else to go, rolls under the trough. She thinks he has gone, but then he grabs her and pulls her out, smacking her head on the ground. Her head wound makes her dizzy, and he knocks her to the ground, kicking her in the ribs. Arya hears her rib cage shatter audibly. She grabs her sword and slashes at the back of his knee where there is no plate armour, but it has no affect on him. He snaps her sword wrist and then picks her up by the throat. She stabs him multiple times beneath the chin, again, where there is no armour, but it has no affect on him. Arya is horrified to see that there is no blood. He plunges her into the trough and starts to drown her. Arya beats at his armoured hands, but only succeeds in bloodying her hands. She starts to lose all strength.

Meanwhile, Jon Connigton, treated of Greyscale by Maester Samwell Tarly, Hand to Aegon, speaks with Aegon about Arya Starks disappearance and all that has come to light about her past (so far). He notes that Aegon, as he was before, seems overly fond of her, and draws parallels between Arya, Gendry and Aegon and Lyanna, Robert and Rheagar. He hopes that history will not repeat itself, and while he comforts Aegon about her disappearance, he inwardly wonders if it might be better for all if she isn't found.

Meanwhile Arya is badly wounded and drowning, but manages to trick her foe. Nymeria arrives with a pack of wolves just in time, who for some reason only attack the bandits, while Arya escapes on the back of Nym, Olyvar with her on Astrid. They ride as far as they can and then settle to rest the night. Olyvar witnesses the town go up in flames until it is put out.

Back at Kings Landing Sam tells Jon and Gendry of the events at Duskendale and it triggers the memory of telling Arya about the Ghost of High Heart being there. Jon and Gendry leave with a group of men to investigate and see if Arya went there.

When Arya wakes up Olyvar tells her that she was howling in her sleep which strikes her as odd as Nym was right beside her the whole time, though she vaguely remembers dreaming about wolves. Sadly, though not as a final plan, Arya tells Nym to go North, as dire wolves do not belong in the south. Her and Olyvar are sharing Astrid when they hear a host approaching. They hide in the trees and when an arrow plunges into a tree beside her head, Arya remembers a similar situation in her youth. She recognises Anguy's shot and walks out to meet them.

Gendry reunites with her and worries about her multiple wounds. Jon apologises quietly, for everything, and then leaves with Olyvar to go and see the lord of Duskendale. Aegon greets Arya with a joke and as the two talk Gendry feels a surge of jealousy.

Gendry travels back to Kings Landing with Arya, who falls asleep in his lap while they ride. Upon their return Gendry forces Arya to see Sam to dress and treat her wounds. Arya is extremely reluctant as she doesn't want Sam to discover her secret, but he doesn't to her relief. At Duskendale Jon investigates the events there, and when he is finished decides to find the Ghost of High Heart to see if Arya had spoken to her and what she had wanted.

Gendry forces Arya to follow Sam's advice of bed rest, which she is, again, really reluctant to do. Arya assumes that Gendry does not know about her time in slavery- she thinks that only Jon, Dany and (to some extent) Aegon know. Gendry, however, has heard the story from the Targaryens, though it is not definite or certain. He can see the connections though, with things about Arya that she has let slip. He goes to visit her in her chambers and she is shouting out the window at Jayce, him having been sparring in the yard below. They talk about how Jayce could be a knight one day, and Gendry asks Arya if she would have ever liked to be a knight. Arya scoffs and says no, that she would be a terrible knight- and that in the North they don't tend to have knights. Gendry asks her about what Valar Morghulis means.

After a minute he accuses her of being a gladiator, though he does not tell her that Jon was the one who told him, as he knows she would become very angry at Jon and likely try to leave again and do something reckless. He puts together his argument, and with no other option, Arya confirms it. She tells him a little of what happened to her.

Later, Gendry goes to see Jon, Dany and Aegon to confirm that Dany is right, and that Arya was a pit fighter. This confuses Dany as the girl she remembers has unforgettable scars, and Arya does not, but admits that they could have just been cuts that had not yet healed. Gendry wonders if there will ever be a stop to the secrets between them all, and Jon says that there is another: that he went to see the Ghost of High Heart to see what she had wanted, but when he got there she was dead, a single wound to her heart made by a narrow blade. They can not think why Arya killed her other than the dwarf knew something that Arya did not want getting out (while Arya only did it in truth because the Ghost asked her to release her to the next world.).

 **Alright, so this "brief" summary wasn't particularly brief at all. Nearly 40 pages... I didn't know how in depth those of you who asked wanted it to be, so I figured I would just write everything that had happened that was significant. Which was a lot. I hope it helped for those of you who were confused- I frequently get confused as well. I understand that it is quite a twisty turny sort of story, as everyone is thinking different things about the same situations with different levels of knowledge! Anyway, I think this is the 32nd chapter of the story, and it has been six months since I published the first chapter. With that in mind I will make sure to do another summery in another six months time, should this keep going as long as I think it might. I may start to move the story along a bit faster now, as I worry that it is taking too long. Perhaps unwisely, I have tried to fit too much into one story which is why it has become so complicated, and it has not even remotely got to the climax. As such, I may cut some bits of the story out that are not that important- if you would rather that I take a bit longer on it though in order to get those bits in, I will do so :) Just review or pm and let me know what you would rather.**

 **On another note, I was going through my Quotev account, and found looooaaads of other shorter fics about Arya's life, all of them unfinished. Two that could definitely link to this story I may post on .net as well- like prequels to this story. That being said, they are unfinished and as I am busy with this fic I don't know how often they would get updated. One is about her childhood at Winterfell, her relationship with Jon and her other siblings, and the other is the events following her attack in Braavos- both correspond more or less to Speak To Me Softly, so if you would like, I will be sure to put them on my .net account as well. Again, either review or pm your thoughts on what you would like me to do.**

 **I hope that this summary was useful! Well, until next time then! Over and Out xox**


	32. Cold Sweat

**DISCLAIMER: I have never pretended to own any of this. Why would I start now? But just to clarify- I don't own or have any rights!**

 **Hey readers, so here's another chapter, I hope you enjoyed the last one even if it was a bit shorter than usual. To be honest I have no idea how this chapter is going to pan out, so I'll just get to it! Anyway, I'm not doing a last chapter reminder as I wrote it in the Story So Far update last week, so if you need a reminder it is there to refer to. As for a recap chapter, I'm relieved to say that it won't be any time soon, as I had enough messages to tell me it wasn't necessary- good to hear that the story isn't as confusing to read as it is to write! . As always, any questions, let me know, drop a review, however you wanna, and I will get back to you! That's all this time, Over and Out xox**

* * *

Arya glared at Gendry from where he stood by the door, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest. Arya prided herself on her glare; it was known to make grown men back away, just with one look. When she first developed the skill she would take pride in the way the blood drained from their face or their brow furrowed or their gullet bobbed as they swallowed. After a while she grew so accustomed to it that she barely even noticed it. Yet Gendry did not even flinch. He simply appeared _amused_. Arya didn't know if it annoyed her or exhilarated her.

Sam stepped back with a sigh. "You really ought to listen to Lord Baratheon, milady," he said gently. "You do yourself no favours."

Gendry smirked. Annoyed her, she decided, definitely annoyed her.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "It doesn't even hurt- look." She balled her hand into a fist and made to smash it into her swollen ribs, but her attempt was stopped midair as Gendry's hand wrapped firmly around her wrist. She glared and pulled away, before turning back to a dubious Samwell. "I'm fine," she snarled.

Arya was a naturally snappy person. She didn't like people, and people didn't like her. She supposed she made them uncomfortable. She could live with that. But the last five days of confinement to her room had made her even more volatile. It wasn't the getting out that was the issue; it was the reactions she got, the reprimands from Gendry and Jon and even Sansa. But on this occasion it wasn't even her fault that she got hurt.

 _Arya was striding down some steps when she heard a shout that she ignored. Footsteps that she ignored. An irritated sigh that she ignored._

 _"You know, the guards are there to make sure that you don't leave," Gendry had sighed, grabbing her forearm and pulling her to a stop. "You shouldn't run from them."_

 _Arya didn't move. "I didn't run," she said blankly. "You need better guards." She pulled free of his grip and stumbled backwards. Her head was still foggy from the concussion- but she was fine. She made to turn around and walk away, but Gendry simply moved in front of her, blocking her path. She narrowed her eyes in irritation._

 _"Where do you think you're going?" He asked, raising a brow. Arya shot him a look that quite clearly said_ none of your business. _This time it was him who ignored her. "Come on, I'm taking you back to your room."_

 _Arya scoffed and stepped around him, only to find that his arm had caught her waist. He pulled her around so that her back was pressed firmly against his front. "Let go, asshole," she hissed, glaring up at him. She threw her head backwards but instead of catching his face she only succeeded in smacking his chest ineffectively; she might as well be head butting a stone wall for all the good it did her._

 _He let go of her anyway and she stumbled, dizzy. Another reason that she hated alcohol; it dimmed the sense and left you incapable. Apparently concussion was almost the same, except she had a constant headache and not just one the morning after. Gendry crossed his arms and snorted._

 _"I'll make you a deal," he said. "If you can walk in a straight line to the other end, I'll leave you alone."_

 _Arya hesitated. "I don't need to be able to walk in a straight line," she answered, scowling._

 _It wasn't enough for Gendry, who scoffed and took her arm again. "Alright then, let's go."_

 _"Fine!" She snapped. She could walk in a straight line. "I'm fine, see?" She took no more than ten steps before she lost her balance._

 _Gendry caught her and balanced her before she could topple over. "Yeah, you're not fine. Come on."_

 _He made to steer her towards her room but Arya huffed and wrenched away. She had been cooped up for long enough. She had survived worse before, this was barely anything. However, as she pulled away she stumbled again. Her head span and she lurched sideways, falling down the steps in a heap. When she landed she could hear a ringing sound, her vision white._

 _She groaned and writhed, arching her back and side away from the ground. She heard a shout and then she was being lifted up. "Go away," she groaned, knowing that it was futile._

"It's your fault anyway," she muttered. He rolled his eyes and Sam ignored them, silently wondering if the two were aware that they argued like an old married couple. When he turned away he rolled his eyes; honestly, they were both fools.

"If I tell you that it would be best to stay in your room would you listen?" He asked, turning around again. Arya shot him a look as if to say, _will I fuck._ He sighed. "Then so long as you don't do anything too strenuous you're free to go. You must be sure to take the tonics though-"

"I hate the tonics," Arya grumbled. "They get my nerves all frazzled and I can't think straight."

"Yes, well it's either the tonics or bed rest," Sam said firmly, before sighing. "If you swear to take them then you're free to go. Try not to break anything else, and be careful with that wr- where are you going?" He asked, bewildered.

Arya had already wrenched open the door. "Riding," she called over her shoulder before leaving the room, the door swinging in her wake. The two guards made to stop her, but she just sent them a withering look and marched straight past them.

Gendry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thanks Sam," he sighed. "I'd best go after her."

* * *

 _"_ You won't stop me," Arya stated matter of fact as she lifted the saddle onto Astrid's back and tightened the girth with her good hand.

Gendry shrugged as he stepped into the stall next to hers and patted Rogue. "I'm not trying to," he said lightly. "I'm coming with you. Where do you want to go?"

Arya swung up onto the horse and watched as he mounted up beside her. "Anywhere!" She laughed, before she spurred the horse on out of the stall. The other horses snorted and startled at the action, and a stable boy jumped out of the way, landing on his behind in the straw. Arya shot out of the stables and into the yard with a clatter of hooves, all tossing mane and flying hair and bright eyes. Gendry couldn't stop himself from grinning like an idiot, and chased after her, sending the stable boy whom had just picked himself back up back into the straw.

He chased after her through the yard, ignoring the startled shouts of the folk there, reveling in the breathless joy of it. They rode recklessly through the streets of the city and pushed on to the Iron Gate. A score of Gold Cloaks appeared around the corner, and scrabbled to get out of Arya's way, Gendry just behind her.

Once out of the city Arya really let Astrid go wild. The mare plunged forwards, sending up dust and clods of mud from her hooves, her tail whipping out behind her like a lash. Gendry had to admire the way Arya rode; perched expertly in the saddle, her arse raised, hands forwards and allowing the reins to move with Astrid's head, her heels down and legs taut as they held her weight and balance. She was stunning. Exhilarating.

He knew Rogue would never keep up with his smaller counterpart. Arya's grey mare was built for speed and agility, Gendry's for strength and power. Rather like their respective owners, he thought. Eventually Rogue was blowing out breath, his sides heaving, and Gendry slowed him. He could see Astrid beginning to tire as well, though had Arya not pulled her up Gendry didn't doubt she would have continued going.

Arya allowed her mare to circle as Gendry caught up. Her hair had come loose of its braid while riding, and her cheeks were tinted pink, her eyes sparkling with joy. _I'll never get enough of that,_ Gendry thought absently, _the way she is when she is happy._ "Looks like I won again, Baratheon," she teased, as they walked side by side.

"I didn't know it was a race," he answered, smiling like a fool.

"I still won though," she teased, and then her eyes drifted past him. They had ridden up along the coast, and the sun burned in oranges and reds against a perfect blue sky. A thousand colours reflected in the waves of the Narrow Sea, a constantly shifting mirage of a hundred different hues. There was a sound behind him, and Gendry looked back at Arya to find that she had dismounted and was hobbling Astrid to the ground. He followed suit, and when he was finished looked up. She stood near the cliffs edge, her back to him and hair wafting in the breeze.

He walked up beside her and took her hand, smiling when she squeezed back, though her eyes never left the perfect vision in front of them. The colours reflected in her grey eyes, her skin tinted orange in the suns light. Glowing.

 _I loved a maid as fair as summer_  
 _with sunlight in her hair._

 _I loved a maid as red as autumn_  
 _with sunset in her hair._

 _I loved a maid as white as winter_  
 _with moonglow in her hair._

The first night that he had seen her, sitting in the silvery pool of water, lit up by the light of the full moon, Gendry had been reminded of the last verse of the song. But in this moment, glowing red and orange, with that after feeling of exhilaration being swapped for something much bigger, yet somewhat lonely, she reminded him of the second verse.

"I liked this best of all when I lived in Braavos," she said suddenly. "The sunsets and sunrises. The land of a hundred isles, they used to call it. And between each isle was a canal. When there was a sunset like this the entire city would glow, as if it was on fire." She sounded almost wistful as she described it, and Gendry found himself listening intently. "The white walls would be covered in twisting dancing shadows, and the water rippled red and orange and pink. The slate rooves seemed to sparkle and glitter when the light shone on them, and the distant city walls turned black, and then just a never ending stretch of rippling water and sky. I loved it."

Gendry said nothing, surprised that she had shared it with him so willingly. Arya didn't ever really speak about her past, not unless probed for it. The entire time she had been speaking she had not turned her face away from the sky, but she was looking at him now. Gendry found his breath taken away by the way she looked up at him, her gaze so intense. Not the way a wolf stared at her prey, as Arya was oft prone to do, or the icy glare she so frequently cast upon people, or the fire full gaze that made him feel burned.

He rested his hands on her cheeks and bent down slowly, his eyelids half closed, watching her. He pressed his lips to hers, and she slid her hands up into his hair, running her fingers through the locks in a way that almost made him shiver. She sighed softly against his skin, and then kissed him back, her lips almost shy at first. Yes, Gendry thought as he leaned down for more, he could definitely get used to this.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened in Duskendale?" He asked, toying with her hand in his lap as they sat side by side on the cliff.

Arya said nothing for a moment and chewed her lip. "I went there to see her," she admitted. "The Ghost of High Heart."

"Why?" He asked, remembering what Jon had said.

"I needed to hear something," Arya answered, her tone honest.

"What was that?" He asked, looking at her.

She hesitated again, and Gendry waited for her patiently. "I needed to know what Dark Heart truly meant," she said quietly. "If it was just a reference to my future... or real."

Gendry raised a hand and turned her face gently towards him. "What do you mean?"

"If... my heart was truly black," she whispered. "If it always had been, or if the things I had done had made it so, or if I had done such dreadful things that I had lost myself. If, with everything I've seen, everything I've done... something inside of me had gone wrong."

Gendry swallowed. "Arya, you are not a bad person," he said firmly. "You are just someone that has suffered too much."

"You know what scares me the most?" She asked a moment later. He didn't reply. "That I enjoyed it. I liked killing. It made me feel... not helpless. Like I had some semblance of control. I've killed so many people that I can't even remember all of their faces. People who deserved it... and people who didn't. I don't regret killing most of them. That is why I needed to see her, Gendry."

Gendry must have still appeared confused for she sighed, and leaned against him. "I needed to know if I have always been this way, or if I became like it because of what has happened to me."

Gendry looked down at her, his gaze intent on making her see what he saw. "Arya... you aren't the things that have happened to you, or the things that have forced your hand. If that was true then every single person who survived the war should be damned to the darkest hell. You aren't your experiences, just as I am not mine. Or do you think that I should be condemned as a murderer?"

Arya tensed. "Of course not!" She said loudly, almost angry that he would call himself that. "You did what you had to do to survive!"

"And so did you," he said firmly, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders.

For a few moments neither of them said anything, content to just watch as the sun sank slowly behind the waves. Gendry loved that smell, the smell of salt wafting in on a warm sea breeze. It reminded him of home, of Storms End. He missed the Stormlands more than he would admit; his whole life Gendry had never settled in one place, always looking for somewhere to make home. As a boy he had never thought he would see much of the world outside of the walls of Tobho Motts forge, and what he had seen since was not what he had ever imagined. Yet his love of sea and salt went back further than Storms End, he supposed; even as a bastard in Kings Landing he had loved being sent on errands that took him to the shore and away from the city stench of shit and death and submission.

Though she spoke in a quiet voice, scarcely more than a whisper, Arya's voice cut through the air. She had a habit of doing that, Gendry thought. While many needed to shout just to get their voices heard Arya could silence a room with just a single quiet words and an icy glance. He wondered where she had picked up the skill, for as a child she had never been that way.

"I killed her," she said, her voice emotionless. "The Ghost of High Heart Hill."

Gendry swallowed. He was surprised that she had shared that with him, but not surprised to hear it; Jon had found the old woman's body himself. "I see," he said.

"She asked me to kill her," she said, again, lacking all emotion. He wondered where she had picked that up too. "I don't think I've ever seen such a... lonely death. She was mad, Gendry. Completely mad... but she didn't deserve to die like that." She was quiet for a minute then. "When I put Needle through her heart she said that it felt warm... like Jenny's laughter."

Gendry sighed as she told him, pained that the death had disturbed her so, but mostly relieved that Arya had not murdered the women. He felt a pang of guilt for thinking she did in the first place, but then wasn't she the one who had said _"I'm no valiant knight of noble intentions_ "? All the same, the knowledge that she had not gone there for the purpose of killing the dwarf relieved him.

"I wonder who Jenny was," he murmured. "She wept for her before, remember? At High Heart Hill." It had been a sad sight, wrenching to see. Disturbing to witness. He still remembered the way she had hunched over, almost skeletal, weeping in the light of the fire as Tom sang the song for her. Arya did not reply this time, and he wondered what she was thinking. "What happened after that? In Duskendale?"

Arya pulled up one knee and hugged it to her chest. "I was just leaving when they came," she said, not bothering to go into the details. "I killed a couple, to protect the women and children in the hopes that they would leave them alone once they got the gold they wanted. I sent the stable lad to ready the horses, and stayed behind to see what I could learn."

Gendry bristled at her recklessness- why could she not have just stayed out of trouble for once? Every time she went anywhere she got into danger- or deliberately pit herself at risk for something foolish. He was about to berate her when he stopped, supposing it was a little hypocritical of him, as he knew that he would have done the same. Instead he listened, wondering what kind of foe could have done that to her. And it was likely that she had learned her lesson already, he doubted that she would appreciate him further hammering the point home.

"It was then that I saw him, while I was crouched behind a stone water trough," she said. "Gendry, I've never seen anyone so big- he was even larger than you. If I didn't know better I would have said he was the Mountain that Rides. One of his own men started saying something and he just swatted him against the wall. The man was dead instantly, I've never seen anything like it." She sounded both horrified and, to Gendry's discomfort, slightly awed. Jealous.

"When he started walking over to the trough there was nothing else I could do, so I rolled underneath and waited for him to go... I thought he had gone, so I moved, and the next thing I knew he was dragging me out." Gendry realised that his grip around her shoulders had tightened, though she said nothing. He worked on slowly releasing his tensed muscles as she talked. "You said that Greenbeard reported that your Black Knight had been seen moving northwards?" He grunted in affirmation. "I think- nae, I'm certain- that this was him. He wore huge black armour from head to toe."

Gendry spoke for the first time. "It wasn't the usual bandits from the Rosby Road?" She shook her head.

"Olyvar didn't think so, and I don't either," she admitted. "There was nothing I could do, he just lifted me into the air by my throat like a rag doll. I- fuck, Gendry- I stabbed him, right under the chin, over and over."

Gendry pulled away just enough to look down into her eyes, and was shocked to see that instead of afraid or shaken as one might expect, Arya looked as though it were a challenge. "What do you mean?" He asked slowly.

"I mean that he should have died," she explained, her voice invigorated. "But he didn't. He didn't even seem to notice, he just plunged me into the trough like-"

Gendry narrowed his eyes. This was getting too much. "He tried to drown you?" He growled.

She seemed to shake off his anger. "Yes, and nothing I did would make him relent- it's how I fucked up my hands, beating his armour. I had to pretend I was dead to get him to let go. I jumped up and stabbed him again, in the eye- and Gendry, he screamed, and I couldn't place it at first, but I think I know now- he sounded like the Other did when I killed it with the dragon glass knife."

Gendry put his hand on her face, stopping her. "Arya, I don't understand," he said firmly. "You're saying he was a white walker?" If this was true then he needed to tell Jon immediately.

She shook her head. "No, no he was different, but then Nymeria arrived and I escaped-" he stopped her again.

"Jon mentioned something to me the other day," he remembered suddenly. "He said that when Nymeria arrived she came with a pack of wolves. That the wolves only attacked the bandits." He left the statement open, wondering if she would reply.

She hummed under her breath. "I think... it was strange. Like I could feel them all, not just Nymeria." She chewed her lip, as she was wont to do when she was thinking. "I knew that I could do it with others of course-"

"You can warg into other animals?" He asked, surprised.

Arya hesitated and then nodded. "Warging is... specifically with wolves. But yes, I can skin change too."

Gendry smiled. "Show me," he said, forgetting for a moment the seriousness of their conversation.

Arya hesitated and then smiled, the corners of her lips pulling up. She breathed in and Gendry watched as she centered herself- and then there was a loud and beautiful cry from the air above them. Gendry looked up, and felt his eyes widen to see a sea lark swooping and dancing in the air towards them. It's huge wings were stretched out either side of its body as it twisted and turned in the sky, dark in the light of the sun. It- or Arya- flew towards them, and landed on the ground. Gendry laughed with exhilaration as the lark regarded him with beady black eyes and hopped forwards. He stretched out a finger tentatively and softly softly stroked the birds feathers. The bird chirped once more and then took flight again, soaring off into the distance. Gendry looked at Arya, who was smiling after the bird.

"How did you discover that you could do that?" He asked, running his fingers through his hair, though it fell straight back in his face again.

Arya hesitated. "In Braavos," she admitted. "Once I knew that the assassins were after me I made use of street cats to keep watch." And just like that the conversation was serious again. She sighed. "When we get to Storms End we must needs root out the Black Knight," she said seriously.

Gendry swallowed and she leaned against him again, his arm naturally coming to rest around her body. "Aye, we will," he stated. "And when we do, you promise me that you won't do anything reckless?"

He expected Arya to brush him off and scoff at him as she had done so many times before, so he was surprised when she quietly said "I swear it." Gendry relaxed... "but only if you swear the same."

This time it was his turn to hesitate. If he promised that then how could he ever kill the monster? He sighed and scrubbed his jaw. "If that's what it takes to keep you out of danger then aye, I swear it." Because Gendry knew that no matter what, he would always do anything in his power to keep the girl beside him out of harm.

* * *

"Mi- milord, she said to tell you that- that..."

Euron sighed and swung his feet from the table, glaring at the stuttering man with distaste. This was why he had cut out his crews tongues. "Say it, for the love of Nagga, man!" He snapped, irritated.

The two men before him were not iron born, that was obvious. They were that snivelling Frey boys men. It had been Euron's idea to send spies, just to keep track of what happened, but he wouldn't risk his part being discovered if his own men were caught. It was lucky too, for they had clearly failed in their task.

"She said to come back and tell you that she was coming for you next," the second man said, the bolder of the two. "That winter was coming for house Greyjoy."

Euron blinked, and then a mad grin worked its way across his face. Winter was coming for him. Now that sounded familiar. "Oh," he said lightly. He stood up, laughing under his breath. So the girl was brave- foolish, but brave. He could respect that- though of course, he had already known what she was capable of. He could still picture it now, the way the she wolf that was so far from home had slaughtered his best men with her hands bound together. "Marvelous," he said to himself, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "Simply marvelous." And now it seemed that she had done the same again.

He turned around to face the two men- if you could even call them that. "So tell me," he said, smiling like the cat with a mouse between its paws, "how did one little girl manage to kill four of you and escape?"

Even the bolder of the two paled at his words, and Euron felt a sense of satisfaction. "I- she was spying on us," he admitted. "She tricked us and then escaped on that wolf of hers before we could get her."

Euron shrugged and raised his brows. "I see," he said. "I see that I have no further need of you. Any man that can be beaten by a girl is hardly any use to me, is he?" He asked lightly, grinning as fear took over their faces. "Bind them and throw them overboard. Let the Drowned God claim them."

His own silent crew dragged out the men, who were shouting and crying, shaking and trying to get free. Euron rolled his eyes. Pathetic. They should be grateful; drowning was the purest way to go. He moved to stand by the window, a round thing with glass so cloudy with bubbles one could barely see out of it. He waited a few minutes, thinking about the wolf girl. Years ago he had sent Victarion on a mission to claim the dragon queen, yet now... now he found that a new girl had taken up his interest.

Arya Stark of Winterfell. The wild she wolf, daughter of the North... and apparent slayer of Freys. Winter is coming for him, he thought with a smirk. The exact words that had been repeated throughout the kingdoms after the massacre at the Twins: Winter came for House Frey. He wondered how Elmar Frey would react when he found out that the person who had murdered his entire family was in fact the girl he was going to such extreme lengths to marry. The thought made him laugh out loud.

Not that the boy would ever get the chance to wed her and bed her, no; the boy was but a means to an end. Perhaps Euron would take the girl for himself. Not even as a salt wife, but a true wife. He pictured the way she had snarled up at him from her knees as his men forced her down, the ice and fire in those haunting grey eyes. _Yes_ , he thought as he watched two shadows drop past his window into the sea, and a roar of laughter burst out from deck. _Yes, he would have her for himself._

* * *

Arya grinned as she watched Jayce nimbly twist the sword from his opponents hand, sending it clattering to the ground. "That was good, Jayce," she praised, walking over to him. She slid her foot under the fallen sword and flicked it up into her hand, flipping it and offering it hilt first to its owner. Even that simple move had Jayce awed, and she couldn't help but smile. "Just remember to keep an eye on your feet; if he hadn't opened himself up for an attack there he could have pushed you off balance."

Jayce nodded, hanging off every word she said. He had progressed to a training sword now, not dissimilar to the one she had used with Syrio Forel. Her concussion had completely cleared up now, and even Sam was satisfied, but her wrist would take some time before it was strong enough to properly train. Of course, she was fully competent with her right hand as well- a fact she had proved after having beat Jayce in moments after he had argued against the necessity to learn to wield a sword with both hands. Yet it wasn't the same, and Jayce was not yet able to differentiate and change his style for the other hand.

Arya was just about to show him and the other lad a certain movement when she heard a shout from behind. She turned around and smiled as Jon strode over. She excused herself and met him half way across the yard. "Jon," she said. "Is everything alright?"

He nodded and smiled softly. "Walk with me?" He requested. Arya smiled, and followed him out of the courtyard to the gardens. They were vast and beautiful, made with wide stone pathways that cut through the landscaped flowers and trees and hedges. For a few minutes they wandered aimlessly, passing the odd couple here and there.

"I wanted to apologise," Jon started, and Arya almost rolled her eyes. "For what I said at the feast. It was stupid of me." He sounded so guilty that Arya almost took pity on him. Almost.

"It was stupid," she said, sticking her chin in the air.

Jon looked wretched and despite her years of training, Arya struggled to keep a straight face. "Arya, truly- I'm so sorry, I was just so- so angry and, I don't- Gods, if I hadn't said what I did you would never have even gone to Duskendale, so it IS my fault that you're hurt-"

Arya couldn't stand it any longer and burst out laughing. Jon stopped in his tracks, shocked, as his little sister openly laughed. "Jon, you're so daft sometimes," she said between laughter. Jon blinked, and this time she did roll her eyes. "Honestly Jon, if you're going to be king then you had better get better at knowing when someone is tricking you." The poor man still looked confused and Arya shook her head, walking off again. "Jon you were a fool to burst out like that, but I'm not angry. Anymore," she poked him.

"You aren't mad?" He asked disbelievingly. "Arya, I-"

"Shut up, Jon," she sighed, taking a turn. "I'm not angry, alright?"

"What about for other things?" He asked after a beat. "Are you mad about the other things I did?" He took her elbow and pulled her gently to a stop, staring down at her with those grey eyes that were so like hers.

Arya hesitated. "I was," she admitted, before narrowing her eyes. "You lied to me, humiliated me, treated me like a child," Jon looked down, ashamed and she sighed. "All to protect me." He looked up again, and she squeezed his arm. "You knew that I would be angry with you. You knew that I would never forgive you for it... all to keep me safe. And while it pisses me off that you still think I need protecting... I can understand. I'm not mad."

Jon seemed to sag with relief, his normally stiff posture sinking, and then his arms were around her, squeezing her in a hug. Arya tensed, and then relaxed into it, slowly bringing her arms around him as well. Even now she wasn't so sure that she liked physical contact. She pulled away and made her way down the curving steps, Jon at her side.

"You and Gendry seem quite... happy together," he said, breaking the comfortable silence. Arya winced. "What?" He asked suspiciously. Arya said nothing, but he seemed to put the pieces together. "You care about him, don't you?"

Arya sighed and stopped at a small waterfall, running her fingers through the cold water. "I do, yes. Gendry... is a good man. And he'll make a good lord..."

"But?"

"...but I'm not the right person to stand at his side," she said carefully. "Any lady would be lucky to have him. But I'm not a lady. I never have been." She turned around and looked her brother in the eye. "That's not me."

Arya knew it was true. She cared about Gendry as much as she did Jon, something that no one else could ever stand to. Jon had always been everything; when she had missed home she thought about Jon. When she was missing her family it was Jon she missed the most. When she had planned to get home it was always Jon that she wanted to get back to the most. He had always been the most important person in her life... but now Gendry meant just as much, a fact that made her a little uneasy.

Part of her was beginning to acknowledge that she cared for him more than she could or would admit... that she loved him. But it wasn't- it wasn't her. Arya didn't do love. Arya did revenge and anger and death... not marriage and love and happiness. Arya didn't know how to settle down and be content. Even though a small part of her wanted to do just that with Gendry. Because Arya would never be content to just settle down, and she knew it.

Jon smiled sadly. "Then it's lucky that he doesn't want a lady, isn't it?" he said. "He wants you, Arya. He loves you. And... I think you love him too, don't you?" He pulled her over and sat her on a stone wall, sitting beside her.

"I..." Arya chewed her lip. "I do," she admitted in a small voice. "I do, but..."

"But it scares you," Jon said quietly. "It scares you because you don't know how. Because you haven't had room to love anyone since father died, and everyone you did start to care about died. Because you have distanced yourself from that part of you because you're afraid it will hurt you."

Arya looked at Jon in surprise, to find that he wasn't looking at her, but staring into the distance, his grey eyes seeing something else. He spoke as if he understood exactly how she felt. "Yes," she forced out, wondering if he was remembering another time and another woman.

* * *

Aegon watched as Arya followed Jon across the yard, leaving that squire to keep practicing. The squire was supposedly Gendry's, but it was plain to see that the boy revered Arya. Aegon sighed; he could understand why. The girl was an intrigue. So beautiful, so quick... so deadly. Sometimes when he looked at her he forgot that she wasn't Cat, and then he remembered and felt a sense of bitterness.

He remembered the first time he had seen her; sitting on the steps at the dock, utterly lost as to what to do without her ship. He remembered the easy pleasantry they had swapped, and the friendship that had struck up between them on the way to Lorath. But perhaps that had all been an act as well.

He supposed he couldn't blame her for it; after all, he had no more been Young Griff than she had been Cat. And she couldn't exactly go revealing her identity to strangers, could she? Not for the first time Aegon wondered just why she had been in Braavos. He shook his head; just doing what everyone else had been doing he supposed- trying to survive.

"Your Grace, I did not mean to intrude," said a soft voice from the doorway. Aegon turned around. Sansa Stark was truly as much of a beauty as the singers told, tall and perfect, with flowing auburn hair and those blue, blue eyes. So strong and unbroken.

"Lady Stark," he acknowledged, stepping away from the window. "You're not intruding. Are you well?" He asked, pouring a glass of wine and offering it to her. She took it graciously.

"I am, your Grace," she said, smiling. "I miss the North, that's true, but it is good to feel warm again." Aegon chuckled; he knew what she meant. Coming to Westeros from Essos had been an adjustment for him too, just as coming from the North to the South was for her.

"I hear that Highgarden is even warmer than here," he said, remembering Dany mentioning Sansa's destination, but instead of smiling the Stark girl frowned just slightly instead.

"It is, yes... though I don't believe Willas will wish to return," she said. "It is to my understanding that he plans to stay here a while, as Jon has offered him a seat on the council." Aegon wasn't surprised; after the war the small council had changed- rather than just a select few filling specific titles, anyone who had a particular skill was given a seat. Though he did not know what special skill Willas Tyrell had.

"I see," he said, taking a swallow of his wine. "And how does that make you feel?"

Sansa sighed, somewhat bitterly. "I suppose it isn't for me to feel anything about it," she answered. "Admittedly, Kings Landing is where everything happens, but it is also the place where I was held hostage as a child. Yet I feel it would be strange to be in Highgarden, for as a girl I had so desperately wished to go there... but wed to another man."

Aegon was surprised. "You had a previous Tyrell betrothal?"

Sansa wrinkled her nose in a way he had never seen her do before. "Not exactly, no," she answered carefully. Aegon surmised that he would not get much more than that out of her, so left it alone. "What of you, your Grace?" She asked, sipping her wine. "A king usually has a queen, does he not?"

Aegon chuckled. "Not as of yet," he said, finishing his drink. "But perhaps one day." Yes, perhaps one day he would marry... just not the girl he wanted to.

* * *

The Red Keep was a large castle, truly, but Arya found that the singers over exaggerated on the real magnitude. As a child it had seemed huge, it was true- but perhaps that was only because it was all very new and exciting and she hadn't ever been there before. In truth, Winterfell was at least half its size again, in both buildings and grounds. At Winterfell, people's business stayed their business. At the Red Keep...

"Lady Arya!"

Arya bit her tongue to stop herself from groaning out loud. All she wanted was some peace and quiet to contemplate her discussion with Jon... but both aspects were nonexistent in the Red Keep. She stopped, though she didn't turn around, allowing the speaker to catch up with her. When she turned around she was admittedly surprised; the caller was a man of her own age, with straight black hair and tanned skin, slight in build but clearly strong. Arya scanned her brain for a name, but came up short.

"I don't believe we have met," he said, bowing slightly, and saving her embarrassment. Arya almost exhaled in relief. "I am Trystane Martell, son of Doran Martell. I am honoured to make your acquaintance, my lady."

Arya bit her lip, unsure what to say. "As am I, my lord," she went with. "May I ask why you are at court?" She asked, walking with him side by side through the shade of the outside corridors.

He shrugged. "An education, to be frank," he answered honestly. "My sister is my fathers heir, but after her its me, and he deemed it wise for me to learn the ways of court. Besides, my father is an ill man, and I represent Dorne while my cousin is... away."

Arya blinked. She hadn't studied family or house history in some time. "I am sorry to hear about your father," she offered. "Your cousin is...?"

He smiled gently. "Nymeria. Sand. One of Oberyn's daughters. I believe you would enjoy her company, though she is older than you." Arya's mind was reeling; why was he talking to her exactly? How had they started talking about Nymeria Sand? "You ought to visit us at Sunspear one day, or the Water Gardens. You would love it, I'm sure, and my sister should be pleased to meet you."

Arya looked at him side ways. His face was kind... but open. _Snake in the grass indeed_ , she thought, _though perhaps not a venomous one_. "I am sure that would be lovely, my lord, but I fear that I will not have the chance for quite some time."

Trystane did not appear bothered by her declaration. "Perhaps they might visit you at Storms End then," he said casually. _Nicely done,_ Arya thought. _Very deft_. "That is where you will be, no?"

Arya hummed. "Perhaps," she offered. This time he did seem surprised. _Got you._

"Oh? I was of the understanding that you are betrothed to Lord Baratheon," he said, peering at her. "Perhaps I am wrong?"

Arya shook her head. "No, I am... though what will happen between then and now, I do not know. But should I be there I would be more than happy for your cousins and sister to visit." She smirked. "You can tell your father that Arya Stark thanks him for his invitation to Dorne." _There. Let him make what he would of that._

Trystane smiled, understanding her meaning. "I shall relay your thanks to him, my lady," he chuckled. "May I speak frankly?"

Arya immediately turned wary. "You may," she said cautiously.

"My cousin- Nymeria that is- is away for... a good reason." He sighed, and she saw him flex his fingers. Arya knew what he was going to say before he said it. "She is with child. My father has called her back to Dorne to avoid the humiliation, but she can not stay there, for she is a bad influence on her younger sisters."

"I see," Arya said slowly, though in truth she did not see what it had to do with her.

Trystane seemed to notice her confusion, and offered her an apologetic smile. "To cut to it... my father asks that you receive Nymeria at Storms End."

Arya was beginning to understand. "And then when the baby is born... take it as a ward?" She wasn't sure how that would go down with Gendry. "I- I'm not sure that Gendry would..." she changed her mind. "Let me speak to Gendry about it. I'm sure we can all come up with something together."

Trystane smirked. "You're learning, my lady," he said. Arya scoffed. It was not a game she wanted to learn how to play. "I thank you for your time, my lady. Until we next meet." Arya nodded at him and he turned around and walked off, hands behind his back.

Arya shook her head. She had a feeling that even if Gendry said no, she might end up taking the babe as her ward. She sighed and shook her head; somehow she had just made a sort of alliance with Dorne, and agreed to consider taking a ward in the span of but a few minutes. She smiled wryly; Tywin Lannister would have been proud to accomplish the same.

She made her way through the castle, wondering what exactly she should do when she saw Aegon leaving a room. She was about to call his name, when to her utter surprise, Sansa followed moments later. Arya narrowed her eyes; what had they been doing in a room alone? She shook the notion from her head.

"Sansa," she called. Her sister turned around, her long skirts swishing around her feet. She smiled as Arya jogged to catch up.

"Sister," she said. "I was about to visit Daenerys, would you like to join us?"

Arya hesitated. Daenerys knew her secrets... but she supposed that they were out now. Besides, she really ought to make an effort, seeing as she was to be her good sister. Cousin. Whatever. Thinking about it made her head hurt.

"Alright," she said, before throwing in, "so long as I don't have to do any sewing."

Sansa chuckled. "I think that venture would be most unwise. I saw your squire earlier today. He's good." Arya lifted her brows; Sansa had been watching the men training? First she was in a room alone with the king and then she was watching sword play?

"Yes, he is," Arya said proudly. "What were you doing watching? I didn't think you were much interested in sword skill."

Sansa smirked down at her. Honestly, it would forever irk Arya that her sister, who had no need to be tall whatsoever, got that gene too. It seemed she would be forever looking up to her elder sister. "Just because swords themselves don't please me, doesn't mean that the image of sweaty men playing with them doesn't."

Arya stumbled. Arya- master water dancer, faceless assassin, pupil of the arts- stumbled. Her jaw almost fell, and her eyes widened comically, but Sansa just carried on walking as if she hadn't just made a joke. A crude joke... well, not that crude, but by her sisters standards it was almost bawdy. Not for the first time, Arya reflected on what a strange day she was having.

"Oh don't look so surprised, I might not have spent as much time around soldiers as you but gossiping ladies are just as bad when there is no one to hear them," she teased, and Arya shook her head.

Soon enough the two sisters came to the queens solar, and Sansa knocked smartly on the door while Arya inspected the two unsullied guards. She wasn't sure what to make of them; they were clearly highly skilled, but they had no secrets or variation. She would very much like to see how she could hold against one one day. She followed Sansa through the door.

Arya had been expecting a floral room, like her sisters, which was decked up and down with plants and flowers, but by contrast the queens rooms were... well, they reminded Arya of Essos. There were aspects of Meereen, she could see, the fabrics and the incense, the little figurines made with gold and bronze. There were also artifacts that Arya recognised as Dothraki, the hair bells and oils, golden medallion belts, painted leathers and sand silks. There were even two Arakhs mounted on the wall. The room, however, was light and airy, the sheer curtains that opened onto the terrace fluttering in the breeze.

Daenerys emerged from around the corner, smiling. She blinked when she saw Arya. "Both Stark sisters," she said, smiling broadly. "A pleasant surprise when I was only expecting the one. Would you like some wine?" Sansa graciously accepted. Arya politely declined. The three women sat down around a curved table, and Arya sat awkwardly as the other two made small talk. She was not used to the company of women, especially high borns, even if one was her sister. Both women, so different yet so similar. Each extraordinarily beautiful, each almost exotic. Each powerful in different ways. Arya suddenly felt inadequate in her faded blue shirt and dusty brown breeches. She knew that her hair was a mess from training, and dust was smeared across her face too. She looked down.

"Arya?" Sansa asked, placing her hand on Arya's arm. "Is everything alright? The queen was speaking to you."

Arya blushed. "I apologise, your Grace, I was just regretting not cleaning up first." She wouldn't have put on a dress, but perhaps she ought to have splashed her face and put on a clean shirt... or have not come at all.

However, the queen laughed. "Please, call me Dany- we are to be sisters after all, aren't we?" Arya relaxed. "Besides, I imagine that when I rode with the Dothraki there were days when I did not looks so wonderful myself. I was just apologizing, for any trouble I may have caused between your family and yourself."

Arya blinked. "Your Gr- Dany, I never blamed you. I imagine it was rather a shock to see me out of the blue."

Daenerys smiled and reached across the table to take Arya's hand in hers. "I also wanted to thank you, Arya," she said firmly. "You saved my life a hundred times over that day. I will never be able to make it up to you, but please, never hesitate to ask if you should need something. I know it is not the same as saving your life, but being queen does have its benefits every now and then."

Arya couldn't help but smile. "Perhaps there is one thing," she said slowly.

"Anything."

* * *

Unofficially the forge at the Red Keep had become Gendry's. With so many forges in the city there was no need of a proper armourer at the Keep, and the smithy had a separate space closer to the stables. So in the evenings Arya would find herself making her way to the forge, where she knew Gendry would be. Not always making something, but tinkering and fiddling.

Arya watched him from her perch, her legs swinging beneath her from the high table she sat on. "I saw someone the other day," she mentioned before taking a large bite of the green apple in her hand.

"And who was that?" Gendry asked, his back to her.

Arya swallowed her bite and wiped some juice from her lips on the back of her hand. "Trystane Martell." Another bite.

Gendry tensed and turned around slowly. "And what did he want?"

Arya shrugged. "Not much," she said. "He wondered if I might like to visit Dorne one day and meet his sister and the Sand Snakes, and if we might consider taking Nymeria's unborn babe as a ward at Storms End." She said it casually, and then took another bite of the apple, not making eye contact with Gendry.

"Oh well, that's- wait, what did you say?"

Arya looked up and swallowed her bite. "He wants me to meet his family and for us to take Nymeria's child as a ward." She cocked her head and licked a stray droplet of juice from her lips. Gendry blinked slowly and stepped over to her.

"He does, does he?" He asked, raising a brow. "That's a rather big ask, seeing as I've never spoken to the man."

Arya shrugged. "But I have, and it could be a good idea." She raised her finger to her lips and sucked off a running droplet of juice. Gendry swallowed, and then shook his head minutely.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," He teased, smirking and taking her hand in his.

Arya raised her brow. "And what is that?"

Gendry narrowed his eyes. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Arya Stark."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "I like dangerous games," she said, before kissing him quickly on the lips and pulling back when he leaned in for more. "So? Can she stay with us?"

Gendry groaned. "I don't see why not," he shrugged, before stealing the last bite from her apple. Arya scowled as he swallowed, looking smug, and threw the core in the bin, before tugging her down to claim her lips in a kiss that tasted like sweet apples. When he pulled away Arya hopped off the table and turned around to grab the knife she had placed behind her.

"I'm riding a dragon tomorrow," she said flippantly, her back to him. She turned around and concealed a smile.

Gendry paled. "What was that?"

* * *

 **So it was a fluffy sort of chapter this time- I thought some light fluffy content was necessary after the last few heavy ones :) Hope you enjoyed, as always review, review, review! Ok, will see you next time, over and out xox**

 **P.S- so sorry for the extremely late update! I know it's been waaaaay too long, things have just been hectic! Hope you enjoy!**


	33. Flying with Broken Wings

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah, I still own nothing. I have about as many rights to GRRM's work as I do to the English throne.**

 **So, last chapter was fluffy and light, all that tosh, thought would bring the mood back up from near death. I hope you have all had a good week, and if you're English then here's to the long holidaaaay *raises glass of cranberry juice* *drops it because I'm clumsy as heck* . So yeah, hope you all enjoy, please leav :)) Over and Out xox**

 **RECAP**

 **Arya has done her time in confinement and Sam is satisfied that she can go out and about. Her and Gendry go for a ride together and discuss the Ghost of High Heart Hill. Arya tells him that she killed the dwarf on her request, but not about the prophesy. She explains what happened in Duskendale and why she thinks the Black Knight was Gendry's bandits leader. They talk about the wolves attack, and theorize about Arya's ability to control more than one at a time. Gendry asks Arya to show him skin changing, which she does with a sky lark. They each promise each other not to do anything reckless when the time comes to crush the bandits. Meanwhile the two spies that Arya told to go back to their master after she let them live tell Euron what happened and give him Arya's message:** _ **I'm coming for you next. Winter is coming for house Greyjoy.**_ **Euron puts together that she was the one who killed the Freys, and remembers the last time they met. He has the two spies thrown over board while he plots to take Arya for himself after killing Elmar Frey. At Kings Landing Arya and Jon have a lil heart to heart and Arya realizes that she loves Gendry- though she is not exactly sure in what way she loves him. Aegon watches Arya leave with Jon for a walk and reminisces when they first met, and wonders how different life would be. Sansa and him talk about Willas Tyrell and Aegon notes that Sansa does not seem very happy about the marriage. He acknowledges privately that he wishes he could marry Arya. Coming back from her walk with Jon, Arya gets interrupted by Trystane Martell and ends up talking about having the pregnant Nymeria Sand stay at Storms End. She then sees Sansa and Aegon leave the same room and wonders what is going on. She goes with Sansa to see Daenerys who apologises and thanks her, before offering her something that Arya can't refuse. Arya then sweet talks Gendry into letting Nymeria Sand and her unborn babe stay at Storms End. She then admits that she is going to ride a dragon the next day, which shocks Gendry.**

* * *

Arya had done many reckless things in her life. Thinking about it, pretty much every single thing she had done since she first left Winterfell had been dangerous... but this topped them all. Dire wolves were big. Giants were bigger. But dragons... dragons were truly something else, and Arya had never seen one up close before. She had seen dragon skulls before; when she was in the dungeons before, first when chasing cats and then when fleeing the keep. She remembered how she had hidden in the mouth of one, crouching behind one of its immense fangs.

A pair of very similar fangs were but feet away from her face now, stained red and brown from its last meal. Rhaegal's breath was hot and rancid as it blew into her face, her hair fluttering in the uncomfortably moist exhale. She could see the saliva oozing in the wet cavern that was his mouth, and beyond- the black pit of his gullet. He smelt of blood and raw meat and burnt flesh and smoke and danger. Arya loved it.

"You can change your mind, Arya," Daenerys said, taking her elbow. "There would be no shame in turning back."

Arya shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, taking a tentative step towards the massive beast. His green and gold scales shimmered in the hot sun, and Arya could feel the heat coming from them. He rumbled deeply as she stepped forwards, but when he did nothing she stretched her fingers out, inch by inch, until the very tips grazed the scales by his snout. Rheagal jerked slightly and Arya inhaled sharply, but didn't move. She pressed her hand against him more firmly, and to her surprise he leaned into her touch, his multiple eyelids flickering. She exhaled a breath of laughter.

When she turned around she saw that Daenerys was already mounted on Drogon, even bigger and more savage looking than Rheagal. Arya had assumed she would share a dragon with the queen, but the Khaleesi had said that no Targaryen ever rode more than one dragon, and Drogon was bonded to her.

"I don't know how to mount," Arya called, suddenly unsure.

Daenerys shrugged. "There is no right or wrong way. Just climb!"

Arya sucked in a deep breath and stepped cautiously towards the joint by his wing. She breathed out, and wrapped one hand around it, and then the other hand. Slowly slowly she pulled herself up, bit by bit, certain that she would fall or he would send her flying to the ground with just a small shake of his neck. After a moment she found herself sat at his neck between two of the large spikes on his spine. She grasped tight to the one in front of her. Dany smiled at her and then said something to Drogon, who surged forwards and then spread his wings, pulling himself up into the open space of the dragon pit.

Arya felt her stomach lurch as Rheagal plunged forwards, copying his brother, his entire skin shifting with each movement. Arya braced herself as he took off, his huge green wings coming up either side of her and lifting her up uncomfortably. "Fuck," she whispered to herself in exhilaration, a slow grin spreading across her face as the dragon launched itself into the sky in pursuit of his brother.

Arya had to suppress the urge to shout in joy as the wind whistled over her head, and Kings Landing shrunk beneath her, like an ants city. She could feel how alive Rheagal was with every small movement, his head dipping and rising in time to the beating of his wings, the almost scorching heat of him even through her thickest breeches, his hide rough yet supple at the same time.

After a few minutes she made the mistake of looking down, wishing to see his shadow on the roof tops of the city, but in doing so she leaned to the left. As she did, Rheagal swooped with her, clearly believing she was steering him. Arya felt her heart leap into her stomach as she nearly lurched off sideways. She clung on and sat up straight, and, with a tentative lean to the right, put him back on course to follow Drogon and Dany. With a sudden boost of confidence, Arya pushed herself up slightly, balancing as she would on Astrid, and leaned forwards. The dragon responded immediately, and pumped his wings, beating them with more strength and catching up with his brother.

Daenerys grinned at her from Drogon's back. She said something but Arya could not hear over the air whooshing past or the beating of the dragons wings. Suddenly, Daenerys swooped down, and Rheagal followed. Arya gasped and leaned backwards, unable to do anything but cling on for dear life as Dany led them on a series of brutal swerves and dips and dives. Arya steeled her nerve and pushed Rheagal down to fly directly beneath Drogon, before nudging him to the right. He swerved and tilted so that Arya was almost clinging on sideways, and she laughed out loud.

By then they had cleared the city, and were flying over the trees of the Kings Wood. Rheagal dipped a little, and Arya heard the sound of trees bending and cracking as he dragged his clawed toes over the tops. She pulled him up and up and up, until they were soaring so high that she was certain she could have flown right over the highest tower in Old Town with room to spare. She felt a shadow and looked up, to see Drogon's belly as Dany flew him over head.

She allowed Rheagal to coast then, watching the city from afar, and then suddenly all of the land dropped away and they were flying over the open water of blackwater bay, wings stretched out to catch the wind. Arya laughed again, unable to believe what she was doing. As a child she had always wanted more than anything to ride a dragon, like Maraxe's or Vhagar or Balerion the Black Dread. And here she was, flying on the back of what was quite possibly one of their descendants.

All too soon Dany turned Drogon's head and swooped back to the Red Keep, rising up atop the cliff. Arya nudged Rheagal and followed, but couldn't resist circling the castle just once before heading back to the Dragon Pit, where Dany was already dismounted and waiting. Arya clung on as Rheagal landed, running a couple of strides on his enormous back legs. When he came to a stop Arya exhaled, having only just realised how long she had been holding her breath.

When her feet hit the ground she landed in a smooth crouch to keep her balance, still unable to keep from grinning like a fool. She reached up and stroked Rheagal's snout in thanks, before walking back to the queen, who stood beaming at Arya, her riding coat flapping in the wind.

"How was it?" She asked.

Arya could not find the words so, in a move that Arya would never do normally, she threw her arms around the mother of dragons neck. Daenerys laughed and hugged her back. When Arya pulled away she grinned. "That was... amazing," she settled for. "Thank you so much for that. You've completely ruined horses for me," she said, still giddy from the flight.

Dany smiled. "Your brother said the exact same thing when he first rode a dragon," she said, and then her expression turned thoughtful. "You know, no non Targaryen has ridden a dragon since before the doom of Valyria. You, Arya Stark, are the first."

* * *

Still buzzing from her encounter and flight with a dragon, Arya pushed the door to forge open, expecting to find Gendry tinkering away inside, but to her surprise the space was empty and the fire unlit. She blinked and shut the door, before walking back through the various yards and corridors. She supposed he couldn't be in there all of the time; perhaps he was training? Arya lengthened her strides and pushed on to the training yard, hoping he would be there.

She took a short cut through the castle and came out on the bridge, not dissimilar to the one at Winterfell where she and Jon used to watch the men training in the yard below. She stopped half way along, searching for a head of ink black hair a blue eyes; he couldn't be hard to find, towering above all others as he did. She spotted him almost immediately, sparring at the far end with some knight that Arya did not recognise. She braced her forearms against the wooden rail and bent over, watching him as he moved back and forth.

While Gendry lacked the finesse and perfectly honed skills that Arya had acquired over the years he was a formidable opponent. With the strength of an ox he practically battered his opponent; Arya winced as the poor man blocked one of Gendry's blows. She would not have liked to have been on the receiving end of that, knowing all too well how strong the man was. Arya continued to watch with pride as he moved, his muscles rippling with each movement, a glean of sweat on his brow.

After a few minutes her gaze wandered to the other fighters in the yard; to the right archers were firing arrows at targets, and Arya thought she could see Anguy there, showing off as usual. She shook her head, chuckling. The other sword fighters were not so skilled as Gendry, a mixture of squires and knights and arms men. She glanced at Gendry one more time and crossed to look over the other side of the bridge.

The other end was quieter, and backed onto the spare stables, a space mostly used for storage and for younger squires to practice. She could see a couple of squires at practice now, and upon closer inspection saw that the taller of the couple currently sparring was Jayce. She smiled as she watched him and his opponent, a stocky boy corded with muscle. She smirked as Jayce forced him backwards; he was clearly the better of the two.

However, moments later another boy joined the attack against Jayce. Arya narrowed her eyes; that was hardly fair. The other boys looked older than Jayce, and heavier too. Jayce saw the attack just in time, and blocked the hit that was aimed at his skull, but left himself open to the first opponents attack. The wooden sword smacked him in the back and he arched in pain, twisting away. Arya pushed herself away from the rail. _Come on Jayce_ , she thought, her hand absently drifting to Needle's hilt. _Stay focused._

The two boys continued their attack on Jayce, and Arya could see that while he just about managed to hold his own he was starting to wear down. Arya cast a glance around, but no one was watching. As she looked back she saw another boy, the largest of the group, make to join the fight. For a moment she was relieved, thinking that surely he was stepping in to help Jayce, but something about his approach was wrong, and Arya felt her stomach clench at the sight of bare steel.

Jayce was occupied with the other two, and didn't see the other lad coming until the last second. He made to defend himself against him, but the stocky boy took the opening to swipe viciously at Jayce's head. Arya heard the heavy clunk as the lead filled wooden sword made contact with the back of Jayce's skull, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Arya made to run to the stairs but there wasn't time, the biggest boy had the steel at Jayce's cheek, while the other two laughed cruelly, reminding her of another time at the Ruby Ford, so long ago. Without thinking, Arya took three strides back and then ran full tilt at the rail, and vaulted over it. The fall was longer than she expected, considering the bridge was not so high off the ground as the one at Winterfell, and the landing was rough. She hit the ground, managing to land in a crouch, her hand already on Needle, but the impact sent shocks of pain through her body. She could hear shouts of shock as she took off running towards the assault, where the boy had Jayce pinned to the sandy ground, his sword tracing his eye socket lazily. Arya could see red. So much red, wet and hot on Jayce's skin, mingling with the dust on the ground. _Pack_.

Arya pulled herself up over a small wagon of barrels and pushed off, launching through the air and over Jayce's head to land smack on the attackers body at full pelt. He went slamming to the ground, his sword flying from his hand, and yelled in shock as Arya landed atop him, Needle pressed tightly against his throat as she crouched one kneeled above him, her boot pinning his wrist to the ground.

"You like picking on others do you?" she snarled, ignoring the boys whimpers. His face was red from trying not to breathe, clearly afraid that her blade would cut into his throat if he did. "Because you're bigger, right? Like picking on the smaller ones?" She twisted her boot and felt his wrist bend and threaten to snap. He cried out again. "Well I've been fighting the big ones all my life, and I've never lost yet. Shall I add you to my list?" She tilted her head. "You were attacking him because it made you feel powerful, weren't you?" He tried to shake his head, but stopped when she pressed harder with the knife, a droplet of bright red blood beading at his gullet. "Admit it. _Admit it!_ "

"Yes!" He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut in fear.

"Do you feel powerful now?" She snarled. He shook his head. "I can't hear you."

"No- p-please, I didn-" he stuttered, and Arya could see the sweat dripping down his forehead.

She leaned closer, snarling under her breath, teeth bared. Jayce was pack. This scum had tried to harm her pack. It wasn't acceptable. She grasped Needle's hilt more tightly, ready to run it across his throat as she had done so many times before, remembering the red that was running down Jayce's face from the line left by the boys blade.

Before she could do anything she was being hoisted out of the air, lifted up and up, steely arms wrapping around her, binding her arms to her body. Arya yelled and threw her head backwards, hoping to catch the assailant in the chin, but her head only hit a muscled chest. "Let go of me!" She snarled, blinded in fury. She saw someone leading Jayce away, blood streaming down his face. Her efforts doubled at the sight. "Let me go, I'll kill him- he-Jayce!"

"Arya stop this!" Gendry bellowed from behind her. "Stop, he's had enough!" He swung around and carried her from the scene, kicking and shouting, snapping and snarling. She tried to wrench herself from his grip, throwing herself to the side in the hopes she would throw him off balance, but he grunted and hoisted her up higher still, her feet dangling above the ground helplessly. "Enough, Arya!"

 _Her hands were slick with the Ticklers blood which poured out of the gashes she left in his body, her skin slipping on the knife handle as she plunged it again and again into his flesh. A strong hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her up, snatching the knife from her grip._

 _"Enough."_

Gendry threw her through the door to the forge, pushing her in roughly as he slammed the door behind him. Arya rushed to open it, but he stood there, his large frame blocking the door.

"Move," she snarled, striding over until she was inches away from him, glaring up at him and heaving breaths of anger and exertion.

"Not until you've calmed down," he said firmly.

Arya clenched her hands into fists. "Gendry Baratheon, move out of my way or I'll- I'll- Gah!" She kicked the metal heavy wooden chest to the side of the door, and it skidded away from her, the metal contents clanging and crashing inside. She took a deep breath and turned around to face him again. He hadn't moved from the door way, watching her intensely with those blue eyes. "Let me through."

"Not until I have your word that you won't go after him," He said loudly.

Arya snarled at him, the two of them standing at an impasse, Arya unable to get past him without hurting him, glaring up at him as he glared just as strongly down at her. Arya huffed and stepped back. "Fine," she snapped. "I won't go after him."

Gendry hesitated, and then lowered his arm, watching her warily the whole time. He sighed and rubbed his jaw. "Arya, what the fuck was that?!" He snapped, his temper rising.

Arya scoffed. "He was hurting Jayce, if I hadn't stopped him Jayce would have lost an eye-"

"That wasn't stopping him!" Gendry said loudly, rising with each word and drowning her out. "You had stopped him! He had no sword!"

Arya hissed. "He deserved it-"

"So it was about revenge?" Gendry said, his temper black.

"It was about justice!" She snapped. How could he not see? Jayce was pack, their pack, and that boy, that piece of shit, had been hurting him. The image of blood streaming from Jayce's eye flashed through her mind, and suddenly Arya felt tears, hot and angry, threaten to spill over. She turned around to stop Gendry from seeing them, wiping at her cheeks roughly, angry at herself for crying.

Gendry touched her shoulder and she wrenched away, not wanting him to see, but it was too late. "Are you- Arya?" He sounded utterly bewildered. "Are you crying?"

Arya growled. "No!" She snapped. "It's just- it's those stupid tonics, I told Sam they stopped me from thinking straight and got my nerves all frazzled. Fuck!" She hit the table in frustration.

Gendry gently took her arm and she allowed him to turn her around, though she didn't make eye contact with him as he used his thumb to wipe her cheeks. He sighed heavily. "Arya, I understand that you were angry, I was too- but you can't just go around attacking people like that." He tried to sound reasonable, but Arya could hear a hint of frustration seeping into his tone again.

"He was attacking Jayce," she said again firmly. "It was my duty to stop it."

Gendry regarded her for a moment and then sighed, scrubbing at his jaw wearily. "Why don't you tell me what this is really about?" He said heavily, before lifting her and placing her on the table so that he stood between her knees.

Arya huffed. "It's not about anything," she said. "He deserved it. That's all."

Gendry jutted his jaw out. "I think there's more to it than that," he said.

"Well, there's not," Arya snapped, making to jump off the table, but Gendry put his hands on her thighs and stopped her.

"Arya stop with the horse shit, alright?" He snapped. "I saw the look on your face, I heard what you said. You weren't just stopping him from harming Jayce, you saw him as a legitimate threat."

"He was!" Arya shouted. "He was a threat to Jayce, to pack! I couldn't save Rickon or Robb or mother or father! I couldn't save you, when you were strapped in that chair! I couldn't even save Lommy bloody Greenhands! I was not going to let that.. that snivelling gnat threaten our pack!"

Gendry sighed, and squeezed her thighs comfortingly. "Arya, I know that it's difficult, but you know that you can't just attack everyone who poses a mild threat to-"

"Mild threat?" Arya asked disbelieving. "He was cutting out Jayce's eye!"

Gendry looked exasperated. "He was being stupid and cruel but he was hardly cutting out Jayce's eye, it was a mere scratch that will heal without even the faintest scar." Arya looked away bitterly, but he took her chin in his fingers and gently pulled her back. "You could have got yourself in serious trouble, Arya. You were going to kill him in the middle of the yard-"

"I was not going to kill him," Arya said, not fully sure if that was the truth or not. Gendry seemed to know that too.

"I saw you Arya, you were about to open his throat," he snapped. "He's a boy!"

"So were we!" She snapped. "That didn't stop people from trying to kill us, did it?"

"But how are we any better than them if we do the same?" Gendry asked coldly, and for a moment Arya felt a shiver of fear at his expression and tone. She always associated Gendry with heat and fire and the sun, but never as cold.

"I never claimed to be better!" She snapped.

Gendry clenched his jaw. "That's bullshit, Arya, and you know it. I think the real reason that you wanted to hurt that boy is because for a moment you saw Jayce as yourself when you had no one to protect you." He watched Arya's face as she froze. "Am I right?" He asked, more gently, his hand coming to rest on her cheek.

Arya looked down, guilty suddenly. Chewing her lip she knew that he wasn't wrong; perhaps for a moment it had seemed all too familiar, too real. She looked up, biting her lip. "When did you get so smart?" She sighed.

He chuckled and leaned down so that his forehead was pressed against hers. Arya wound her fingers through his on her cheek and then chuckled slightly. "Do you remember the first time we met?" She asked, smiling a little. "With Hot Pie and Lommy?"

Gendry chuckled. "They never guessed you might be scarier than you looked." He pulled away and smiled. "What was it you said? _I'm good at killing fat boys-"_

" _I like killing fat boys_ ," Arya finished with him, smiling. "And then he bumped into you, and you said " _you like picking on the little ones do you? I've been hammering an anvil these past ten years-""_

 _"When I hit that steel it sings- you gonna sing when I hit you?"_ Gendry joined in, laughing. "Poor boy nearly pissed himself. I'm pretty sure he did the second time, when you beat him with that wooden sword."

Arya raised a brow. "You remember that?"

Gendry smirked. "Of course I do. Yoren took you off and stripped the skin off your behind with the same sword for it. You were lying on your front for weeks."

Arya blushed. "Yes, well, he had to stop me from drawing attention to myself didn't he?"

Gendry shrugged. "Maybe he also thought you deserved it," he said lightly. "After all, you did just beat up someone because you wanted to..."

Arya felt a pang of guilt, catching his meaning. She groaned and pressed her forehead against his chest. "Jon is going to kill me," she sighed. "And Sansa. Aegon will bloody laugh, and Dany- gods, she had just let me ride her bloody dragon, what is she going to say?" Arya cursed under her breath.

"I saw you," Gendry said. "I think everyone did, especially after you flew around the Keep on the bloody beast. I always knew you were a show off," he teased. Arya pinched his ribs, not in the mood for japes. "Look, we'll explain, and then... well, maybe it will be time to head home."

Arya inhaled his scent, breathing in the smell of leather and sweat and steel that was him. "Good," she grumbled. "The sooner the better. I fucking hate this place."

* * *

"Arya, what in all of the hells were you thinking?" Jon yelled, striding back and forth across the room. Arya sat in a chair, Gendry's hands on her shoulders. "Do you have any idea how foolish that was? Everyone saw you, and I don't even know what I'm to say to the boy's master- that my sister was the one responsible for cutting up his squire?."

"You can say he was a snivelling shit that was cutting up _my_ squire," Arya grumbled.

Jon shot her a look, and Gendry's fingers tightened around her shoulders telling her to shut up. "Arya, if you were anyone else- fuck, I don't even know what I would do, because no one else would bloody well do it!" He snapped. "First you beat up a Gold Cloak in the middle of the street, then you run off to Duskendale, and now you're attacking squires! I don't know what to do with you!"

Arya wrenched free of Gendry's hands and stood up, glaring at her brother. "That Gold Cloak deserved it- he was attacking a child!" She snarled. "And need I remind you why I went to Duskendale? Besides, the squire got off with barely even a nick to the throat- Jayce still can't see!" Arya had not been allowed to see him yet, but Sam had reassured her that it wasn't serious, though it would take time to heal.

Jon slammed his hands down on the table. "From what I heard, if Gendry hadn't pulled you off of him the boy could have died!" He began pacing again, a habit that he seemed to have formed in their years apart. _He never used to do that,_ Arya thought, _but then, I never used to attack squires before either._

Arya rolled her eyes. "An exaggeration," she lied, staring him straight in the eye. "I lost control for one moment, that's all. The squire is fine, Jayce will be fine. I'm leaving soon anyway, and-"

Jon pulled up short, his face losing all traces of anger. "You're leaving?" He asked.

Gendry took her hand. "I never planned to stay here long, Jon," he said apologetically. "I belong in Storms End, and there is much there that needs seeing to." Arya knew he meant it; she oft caught him thinking about the farms and the outlying villages, the reluctant lords, and of course the bandits and their raids.

Jon looked at Arya. "But you've only been here for two weeks," he protested. "Sansa will miss you, and Dany and Aegon. I'll miss you," he said, blushing.

Arya smirked. "Even if I'm a Gold Cloak battering, squire murdering, troublesome little sister?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Yes, even then." He sighed, and pushed his hair out of his face. "When do you plan on leaving?"

Gendry cleared his throat. "My men are ready to go at a moments notice," he said, "so tomorrow morn, I thought." Arya raised her brow- he must have been waiting for an excuse to go. It seemed that Gendry did not like court any more than she did.

Jon nodded in acceptance. "Will you be going by ship?"

Arya narrowed her eyes. "Why would we go by ship?" She threw in, wishing once more that she had never been to see Sam. Jon shot her a look that said she knew exactly why, and Arya rounded on Gendry, fighting the urge to put her hands on her hips like Sansa did when she was trying to prove a point. "Gendry?" She asked suspiciously.

Gendry smiled and chuckled, squeezing her hand. "No, we'll be going by the Kingsroad, through the Kings Wood. With a smaller company it should take much less time to get there now." Arya nodded, relieved. She had despised the slow pace of the company up to this point. Alone, she could have reached Storms End over a month ago. She was used to the freedoms of travelling by herself, being able to do things as she wanted; sleeping for as little time as she wanted, riding for as long as she wanted. Not having to wait endlessly for a score of men. Arya found it agonising.

Jon flexed his hand and sighed, clearly unhappy with the prospect of Arya leaving so soon. "Well, it is, at least, good that you two are in agreement over one thing. When you left Winterfell all you did was argue."

Arya frowned. "In all fairness, you were selling me and he was, in my mind, abducting me." Jon went red, and she snorted. "Oh for fucks sake, Jon- we already talked about this. I'm not angry at you, so you can stop blushing like a maid!"

The comment made him blush all the more, and Arya walked out of the room, chuckling.

* * *

"How are you even still alive?" Arya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up to near her hairline as the black tom cat hissed at her from the fountain side. If he had looked old before now he looked positively ancient; his coat was sparse and patchy, part of his ear missing, likely chewed off in a long ago cat fight, and his eyes appeared somewhat rheumy. This, however, did not seem to stop him from glaring at her as she gaped at him.

"Since we last met, cat, thousands have died," Arya said, narrowing her eyes. "Small folk, farmers, nobles and kings alike, all dead. But you have somehow survived. How?" The tom simply hissed at her, his dusty coat raised along his spine. He darted to the side, but so did Arya. "You were the only cat that used to give me trouble, you know," she said, advancing. "But I'm not that child any longer, and I've faced far more fearsome adversaries than you, cat!"

He hissed in displeasure, and leapt to the side, darting past her. Without thinking Arya chased after him, following him across the courtyard and down the stairs, leaping the last four and landing nimbly. For a second she contemplated skin changing into him, but somehow that seemed to her like cheating. She had caught him before, why not now?

She chased him down to the lower yard, amidst training knights, squires and stable boys, pushing between ladies in pretty dresses and uppity lords. It seemed to Arya that he was even faster now than he was once before, but surely that was impossible. Maybe she had become slower? Arya shook her head. Stupid thought.

She pushed her mind towards the cat, and suddenly she could see through his eyes- not to control him, but to see where he was going. With satisfaction Arya pulled back, and turned a right, leaping a series of steps in their entirety. She ran through a corridor and up the stairs, bounding up two at a time until she came to the crossing.

She had timed it perfectly; the cat darted around the corner and collided with her boot. Yowling, the tom scratched and wailed as Arya picked him up smugly. She carried him over to the wall, eleven or twelve feet high on the downside and over looking the quieter end of the training yard. After a minute the tom stopped yowling and settled down, as Arya stroked his spine and shushed him.

"You aren't evil really are you?" She asked with a contented huff. "Older than sin and twice as mean is what they say about you, cat. But you're not so bad. If it's true that you really are Balerion and I was you, then I would be angry too."

"Arya what in seven hells are you doing up there?"

Arya looked down from her cross legged perch. Gendry was stood below her, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Arya almost snorted; for once she was higher up than him.

"Me and this cat are old friends," she said, stroking the cats back. "We go a long way back." She hummed to herself. "I really ought to thank him, it was him that led me to the secret escape tunnel before father was taken captive. If it weren't for this cat I would have died near a decade ago."

* * *

Arya smiled as she adjusted her girth, tucking her leg up over Astrid's saddle in order to pull the straps. She sighed as she set it back in place, and smiled at Sansa. "I'll see you again soon, sister," Arya promised. "For your wedding. You'll be a married woman soon enough."

Sansa arched one elegant brow. "What, and you won't be?" Arya did not answer. "Besides, who knows what could happen between now and then? Knowing you, something terrible."

Arya laughed. "I'm so glad that you have such faith in me." She reached down and took Sansa's hand. "All will be fine. I swear it."

She squeezed and then let go, urging Astrid over to Jon. He did not smile as she approached, his face stern and serious. As always, Arya thought. "Don't look so sad Jon, it isn't like I'm dying. You wanted me to go south anyway, so you have no reason to complain," she teased. "And besides, won't you be relieved not to have to worry about me all of the time?"

Jon's frown only deepened. "I'll always worry about you, little sister," he said. "And knowing you, you'll only get into trouble soon enough."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "Why does everyone keep saying that to me?"

A hand appeared on Jon's shoulder. "Because it's true," Aegon joked, his lips pulled up into a teasing smirk. "Kings Landing was a peaceful place until you arrived. It's been nothing but chaos since then."

Arya snorted. "Then you must be relieved I'm leaving," she said, before putting a hand on Jon's shoulder, on the spot where Aegon's had been moments before. "You'll see me soon, Jon. I promise." She cast one more look at his face before urging Astrid on. She cantered past the guard and the foot soldiers, all the way to the front. Gendry looked at her as she pulled up beside him.

"You aren't sorry?" He asked. "To be leaving?"

Arya spat on the ground. "That's how sorry I am," she said.

He clucked his tongue. "That wasn't ladylike at all."

Arya pinned him with a glare. "I've been telling you this the whole time," she sighed. "I'm not a lady."

He smiled. "That you are not, girl."

* * *

As Gendry had predicted the band moved faster than before, and by nightfall they were well into the Kingswood. Arya found herself smiling, joking with Lem and trading insults with Anguy, more at ease than she had ever been at the Red Keep. Her wrist still prickled with pain every now and then, should she move it suddenly or clench her fist unintentionally, but it was stronger than it had been before. It was still wrapped up in strips of linen, but she could hold her reins and grasp a sword hilt. Sam had inspected it before she left, and relief had washed through her, hot and welcoming, when he told her it would make a full recovery.

No, it wasn't her wrist that bothered her so much as her head. She still had dizzy spells when she moved too quickly, and had to shut her eyes and hold onto something to keep from falling over. Arya found herself doing exactly this after she dismounted, breathing out through her mouth as she held onto the saddle. It passed quickly, and Arya felt a warm weight on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Gendry asked, his voice quiet and laced with concern.

Arya nodded. "Fine," she said, putting extra strength into her voice to convince him. "Just stood too quickly."

Gendry nodded and moved around to run up the dangling stirrup for her. "And your wrist?"

"Also fine," Arya said, flexing it to show him. "How's my squire?"

Gendry frowned. "He's my squire," he reminded her, "and he's fine. He can open his eye and all, so you don't need to go charging back to Kings Landing to murder his assailant."

Arya rolled her eyes. "I know I don't need to," she said. Gendry looked relieved. "I simply want to." His face snapped around to glare at her. Arya rolled her eyes again and stomped off into the trees to explore the area. She heard Gendry pass the horse off, and moments later he was walking side by side with her.

"I'll be glad to get home," he admitted suddenly, breaking the silence after a few minutes. Arya looked at him and he shrugged. "I won't relax until we get there. I never really had a home before Storms End, and now that I have one I don't much like not being there."

Arya tried to remember how she had felt all those years ago when she had been longing to return to Winterfell. She remembered the ache, the instinct to go there. But that had been so long ago now that Arya found it difficult to agree. "What will you do when we get there?" She asked, climbing over a rotting log.

Gendry stepped over it with ease. "Before or after I marry you?" He teased. Arya made no reply and he sighed. "It depends on what Davos has to say, but I'll try to understand what is happening with the bandits and all. If the man you fought was the same one from before, then maybe there'll be peace in the Stormlands for a while."

Arya frowned. "Probably not," she said. He looked down at her. "You said yourself that there were many different groups, so unless they all banded together and left, then you'll likely find your lands in a worse state than you left them in."

"That's optimistic."

"Optimism doesn't keep you alive," she shot back.

He shrugged. "Can't argue with that."

Arya had a retort ready on her lips when she saw something on the horizon. Gendry saw her face change as he peered past him, and turned to look over his shoulder. Just behind the dark silhouette of the trees, bright against the evening sky, was a menacing orange haze.

"Where is that?" Arya asked lowly, not bothering to turn to look at Gendry.

"Near Bronzegate I think," he replied, his brows pulled low over hi eyes and casting them into shadow. "One of the outlying villages. What do you reckon, bandits?"

Arya hummed. "Most likely. I imagine that they don't want to stray too far into your territory, even if you are away- I assume that the majority of the guard you left behind are central?" He nodded. "It's safe to assume, then, that any raiders will have scoped that out. The outlying villages are safest for them to attack..."

Gendry looked down at her and watched her thoughtful face as she considered something. "But?" He asked, sensing that she wasn't yet done.

"Why would they attack villages at this end of the Stormlands?" She asked. "Surely the south side is more vulnerable."

Gendry nodded. "Because if they had the sense to scope out where I have my men stationed they likely had men watching for our return."

Arya turned to face him, her face dark in the dusky light. "Exactly. It's too much of a coincidence. Either its a signal that we're coming... or its a challenge. How long will we take to get there?"

Gendry rubbed his jaw. "A day, maybe two. We should cross the Wendwater tomorrow and then its just a question of how quick we are." Arya said nothing and Gendry took her arm gently. "What are you thinking?" He asked.

Arya shrugged. "Don't you think we ought to know just what we're dealing with before we engage them?"

Immediately Gendry tensed, his fingers squeezing more tightly. "What are you saying Arya?" He asked sternly. "Because if you think I'm going to let you go off alone- while you're injured no less- then-"

Arya narrowed her eyes and brushed past him into the darkness. As she strode away she could practically picture him, arms crossed, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. She couldn't have made it more than ten paces when she heard him turn around and follow her, sighing heavily. She didn't turn around, but continued walking, ignoring him.

"Look, Arya, I know that you can fight and stuff, but even you have to see the stupidity of going off alone to confront-"

Arya clenched her fists at his words. "Even me?" She repeated hotly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying sometimes you can be a bit rash," Gendry shot back, equally sharp. "But this- its just straight stupidity-"

"Oh, so now I'm stupid as well," Arya hissed.

"If you seriously think it's a good idea, then yes!" He snapped.

Arya felt her temper flare at the words. "If you're so clever then what do you propose?"

He took a hold of her wrist and pulled her to a stop, and they faced one another, jaws ticking and eyes flashing. "If all of the bandits are together then this could be my one chance to get rid of them all at once; one decisive battle."

Arya shook her head. "And if there are more waiting?" She asked. "If this was just some kind of signal?" She sighed, her mind burning with impossible questions. She had an idea, but he wasn't going to like it. "Look, what would happen if we just attacked, assuming there were only three score of them, and then more appeared?"

Gendry narrowed his eyes. "I doubt they have more than us-"

"You and I both know what a surprise attack can cost," she interjected, knowing he would understand her reference to the Holdfast all those years ago.

Gendry exhaled sharply from his nostrils. "Aren't you usually the one to jump into action no matter the cost?" He asked sharply. Arya pursed her lips; he had a point. "I just think that if we crush them now, we can eliminate the risk of them growing in number."

Arya hesitated. He was never going to listen to her. He wasn't wrong- if they didn't attack now then there was a chance that the bandits would swell in size, but... what if they knew something? About the Black Knight? Arya had no way of knowing anything about him, and if they slaughtered all of the bandits they might miss any information that was to be had. Yes, they could capture one of them after the fight, but who was to say they would then be inclined to tell the truth?

She looked back at Gendry; he was watching her scrutinisingly, and she sighed. "Fine," she snapped. "Attack them then."

He seemed to relax at her words, his grip on her wrist loosening slightly, and he pulled her closer to him. "It'll be fine, you'll see," he said, his tone lighter, as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms. Arya remained stiff in his hold, and he sighed. "You don't need to worry Arya, it'll be over in no time and I'll be back to you before you've even noticed I'm gone."

Arya snapped her face up at the words. "What are you talking about?" She asked, her tone low. "If you're going off to some kind of battle then I'm going too." His hands immediately halted in the ministrations, and he bent his head to peer at her through the darkness better, as if to see if she was serious or not.

"No," he said flatly, without hesitation.

"You can't stop me," Arya challenged. His eyes narrowed threateningly, and he leaned closer to her, until there was barely any space between them.

"Oh yes I can," he snarled. "I don't want you at any risk, Arya-"

"But I thought you said it would be over in no time?" She asked, imitating his words from just moments ago. "Either its so dangerous that you want me to keep away- which is stupid- or its so simple that there's no risk. Which is it?"

"Both!" He snapped, bending down to her so that she could see his white teeth gleaming in the dark. "Dangerous for you, simple for me!"

Arya could feel her nails digging into her palms as she clenched her fists at her sides, so tightly that they were practically straining; she could almost feel her knuckles threatening to burst out of her skin. "Oh, so now you're saying you're a better fighter than me?"

He pursed his lips. "No, I'm saying I'm a better soldier than you," he said, clearly trying to keep his temper. "You aren't a soldier, Arya."

Arya wrenched away from him, ignoring the stab of betrayal at his words. "I fight just as well as you- better, if you weren't so freakishly big!" She added spitefully. "I'm just as much of a soldier as you!"

He ignored the jab, and closed the distance between them. "You never follow orders, you're rash- you would be a terrible soldier and you know it!" He sighed and scrubbed a big hand over his jaw. "There is a difference between fighting one on one and fighting in a battle, Arya."

"A man will die on my sword just the same in a battle as he would one on one," she snapped, crossing her arms.

Gendry ground his teeth together at her response, and extended his stance, making himself seem impossibly bigger. "You know that it's not the same," he snapped. "I don't think you could be a soldier even if you tried, and that is why you won't be a part of this fight," he said, jabbing his finger at her for emphasis.

Arya could feel the anger, that had been brewing inside of her, threaten to explode. A few years ago she would have, would have allowed her anger to take over her body instead of her brain. A few years ago she wouldn't have bothered thinking about consequences. But instead of doing anything, she locked her jaw and strode past him into the dark, without another word.

 **Welp, there's another chapter, a long time in coming! Seriously, I'm sorry that its been so long. I hope you all enjoyed it! Aren't they just a nightmare? Finally seemed like they were starting to become a team and then bam!- back to fighting each other. Hopeless, aren't they? Gendry just really needs to chill out, like bruh- Arya's a legend, let her strut her stuff! As always, reviews are so, so appreciated, so if you have any thoughts- let me know! That's all from me, so... over and out xoxo**


	34. The Lone Wolf

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned GOT I wouldn't be writing on a laptop that is functioning purely due to string, tape and prayers. Just in case, GRRM and HBO own all rights.**

 **Yo readers, hope all is chillybeans at your end, wherever that may be! So I haven't got much to say this time, apart from thank you to all of the people who have reviewed or messaged me! Oh and also, if you're a history nerd, like me, Dan Jones (an all round great guy) did an hour long discussion with GRRM about Game of Thrones and its historical context, and about how it is largely based off English history- I haven't seen all of it yet, but it is really good. The full version is on Youtube if you wanna check it out- and if you like Dan Jones there are loads of his documentaries on there in full as well, "Britains Bloodiest Dynasty" and "Britains Bloody Crown". They're AMAZING if you're into them :) Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter- Over and Out xox**

 **RECAP:**

 **Arya rides a dragon, and goes to find Gendry. She watches him training in the yard, and sees Jayce being attacked by a group of other boys. She rushes to his defense, takes it too far, nearly kills the ring leader and Gendry pulls her off just in time. They have a chat, and then Jon lectures her. Gendry suggests that its time they leave for Storms End, and it is agreed that its a good idea. The Baratheon Company make it into the Kingswood, when Arya and Gendry notice a fire near Bronzegate, presumably set by bandits. Arya wants to go and scope it out alone- partly to assess the risk, partly to see if anyone there is linked to the Black Knight- and Gendry has a fit over the idea. He forbids her from joining the battle, and she leaves him alone in the woods.**

* * *

Arya strode away from Gendry, anger coursing through her veins as she tried to put his words out of her head. She was so tired of it- him and Jon, both always acting like she was a child, telling her one minute about her responsibilities and the next about how she was theirs to command! But, as she made her way through the dark, she supposed that what had hurt her the most was that Gendry was supposed to understand. He had told her over and over that he believed in her, that he saw her as more than just a lady of a castle- yet he had just more or less admitted the opposite. He hadn't said the words, but the sentiment was there, or else why would he forbid her from battle? From spying? From doing anything of any use to anyone?

 _What does he expect me to do?_ She thought to herself angrily. _Stay with the horses? The camp followers?_ Humiliation coursed through her body at the very idea of it, and she pushed it away. She had other concerns, and she needed to focus.

If Gendry went and battled the bandits then Arya would not have a chance to see if they were connected to the Black Knight. For a moment she had wanted to shout that in his face, but then he would have asked her why, and... Arya bit her lip.

When he had asked her why she had gone to see the Ghost of High Heart Hill she had told him the truth... or at least, part of the truth. She had not mentioned the prophesy, none of it, and how else could she explain her need to destroy the monster she had fought at Duskendale? Gendry would never believe that she just wanted rid of the bandits, and he would ask her why else she was so desperate to find him.

The tall black mountain of revenge... could that be him? The Black Knight? The dwarf had told her she would never find peace if she didn't kill him... more or less. And how could she explain that to Gendry when she had, not days ago, promised not to put herself at risk against him?

Arya sighed and chewed her lip, tugging it viciously between her teeth. She was stuck; either tell Gendry the truth, and have him refuse to let her out of his sight, or not tell him and lose the only source of intel she might ever have.

As far as Arya could see she had only one choice, and it would involve a great deal of stealth.

* * *

By the time Gendry returned to where the company had made camp the moon was high in the sky, and most were settled down for the night underneath their furs. He had lingered behind after Arya left him, cussing her, cussing the bandits and cussing himself. Why couldn't she see that he just wanted her out of harms way? He knew she was exceptional, for the gods sake, but she was so tiny. He knew how dangerous she was but a battle was different, and he didn't want her going anywhere near one. Besides, Jon would personally see him killed if she was hurt.

Jon... he had made Gendry swear to keep her safe. "You know what she's like, Gendry," he had told him before they left. "She'll refuse to see the danger she is in; Greyjoy, Frey, this Black Knight person, and gods know who else- they're all after her. Just keep an eye on her, will you? She's my sister, and I don't care if it makes her hate me but I'll not have her harmed."

But hells- she could be so damn difficult sometimes! Gendry cursed under his breath. How was he supposed to keep her out of danger when she was so damned determined to go looking for it? He knew he shouldn't have tried to forbid her from joining the battle, forbid her anything and it became her hearts desire, nor should he have insinuated she wasn't able to look after herself, but fuck- he'd been so angry!

He pictured the way she had just stared at him and walked off, without a single word or display of emotion. It chilled him; he would have preferred her to hit him, stab him- fuck it, he'd have preferred to see her cry; the way she seemed to have so quickly put up that wall. He thought about how she had been more open with him in Kings Landing, more honest than she had ever been, and knew that he may have done irreversible damage earlier. It frightened him, they way she had so quickly reverted to closing herself off, to distancing herself. He wondered again where she had picked that up, if he'd been there when it started.

Suddenly, Gendry felt a surge of guilt, and groaned at himself under his breath. He was a fool. Arya... it was clear that she didn't see things the same way as anyone else. He forgot, sometimes, that what she had seen, what she had experienced, had changed her so much. He had never met anyone so perceptive as her. So still. She had been so cold at first, like ice, blank of all emotions, but things had changed between them, hadn't they? Two months ago the only reason Arya would have touched him was to punch him. Now... it wasn't even the few kisses they had shared, but the casual ways that she allowed him close to her that warmed him. Leaning against him when sat by the camp fire. Allowing him to put his hand on her shoulder, or give her a leg up onto Astrid, or pass her something. Not just tolerating him stiffly but letting him without thought.

Because she trusted him.

He wondered when the last time she had really, truly trusted someone was. Jon maybe, but after Jon had taken her from the North and everything, perhaps not. Sansa? He rather got the impression that the sisters had never got on as children, but Arya had shown a closeness around Sansa that he hadn't seen in her before. She was happy around Aegon, but he doubted she truly trusted him... but then, Aegon had known her past before anyone else had, even before the queen had realised. Gendry put the thought out of his head. Here he was, not trusting her, again.

He needed to see her. To make her understand... to apologise. But where was she? Gendry paused, and looked around, but it was hard to tell in the dark. She usually camped out of sight, hidden away in the trees instead of among the rest of the company. Just as he was thinking about heading into the woods to try and find her he heard a soft plucking of a woodharp. He followed the sound and found them sat around a dying fire, the gentle notes of Tom's music barely playing over the sound of Lem snoring.

"Everything alright, lad?" Greenbeard asked, looking up from his task of picking mud out of the treads of his boot with a knife. "Looking for that girl of yours?"

Gendry swallowed and nodded. "You seen her?"

Tom nodded idly, and set his harp aside gently. "No more than an hour ago," he said, stretching his fingers. "She looked mighty determined like."

Gendry creased his brow. "Determined?"

Greenbeard snorted. "She went striding past, didn't even stop to ask about the boy. Just grabbed her skins and packs and went off into the trees. Like she was on a mission."

Gendry sat down heavily with a low sigh. "Probably because she didn't want to see me," he said. "I said something- fuck! I nearly forgot." He sat up straight. "Get Lem up, will you?" He asked Tom loudly. "We saw a fire, over Bronzegate way. Looks like a bandit attack."

Greenbeard put down his boot and wiped his knife on his breeches. "A fire?" He asked. "Why would you think it's bandits?"

Gendry explained hurriedly, the three ex brotherhood members listening carefully. When he was finished Lem shook his head.

"I've been needing a good fight," he said. "How long will it be until we get there?"

"A couple of days at least," Greenbeard said, waggling his knife at him. "Unless they've moved on. We might have to chase after them then, but that would be risky."

Lem huffed. "Risky? When better to do it than now, when we have the numbers all together?"

Gendry clucked his tongue. "And if it's a trap? Say we go in and fight them, exhaust the men- and then get ambushed?" It was only as he was saying the words that he realized he'd said exactly what Arya had been suggesting. He cursed, and the three older men looked at him strangely. "That's why I was looking for Arya," he said. "We had a disagreement about how to do things," he explained.

Greenbeard laughed. "I imagine she was all for rushing in and killing the lot of them, right? She's got a thirst for blood, that one."

Gendry ignored the jibe and shook his head. "No, actually, she wanted to wait until we had more information." He hesitated and then sank his head into his hands, running his fingers through his shaggy hair tiredly. "She wanted to be part of the battle, and I refused."

Tom snorted, and picked up his harp again. "I imagine she took that well," he said. "That why she was running away from you earlier?"

Gendry grit his teeth. "I may have attempted to order her not to be at the fight."

The three men around him erupted. "You have a lot to learn, lad," Tom chuckled. "Some women like to be ordered around, but not that one. You've got yourself a wild one there."

"Mind you," Greenbeard said, shrugging, "she wasn't trying to keep out of sight. Maybe she wanted you to follow her."

"And why would she run away from me if she only wanted me to follow her?" Gendry asked dubiously.

Greenbeard smirked. "So that you could catch her and show her whats what," he offered slyly.

Gendry narrowed his eyes. "Careful, that's milady you're talking about."

Lem laughed and settled back down on his furs, wriggling his shoulders until he was comfortable. "Maybe she wanted you to show her what that means."

Gendry picked up one of Greenbeard's boots and threw it at the bearded man, who huffed as it landed heavily on his gut. Gendry smiled for a moment, but it slid off of his face as he thought about the way she had left him in the dark, and he sighed. "I ought to go and speak to her," he began to say, but Tom interjected.

"I would wait until the morning," he advised. "Let her cool off, you know what she's like; she's probably busy throwing knives at a tree and pretending its you. No good in presenting her the real target."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence," Gendry said sarcastically, though he knew Tom probably wasn't far off.

"Tom's right," Greenbeard said, as he lay back on his furs, pulling his cloak over his front. "Wait til the morning to speak to her, and when you do remember to speak to her softly; she's a wolf, remember?"

Gendry sighed, and lay back. "I remember," he said, staring up at the stars.

* * *

The already warm morning air lay over Gendry like a blanket when he opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the sky; such a dark grey that it was almost black, and he knew straight away that it would be sleeting all day, from dusk until dawn. He could feel it in the air as well, hot and moist and sticky. He never noticed how warm it was unless it was like this, and he wondered if Arya felt like this all the time.

Gendry groaned as he thought of her. Would she still be angry? Stupid thought. Of course she was. As he pulled himself up he noticed that no one else was yet stirring, leaving the camp eerie and quite. For a moment Gendry thought that it looked like some kind of grave yard, with everyone lying on the ground like that. Arya always woke early, she would be easy to find among all of the sleeping bodies.

He made his way towards the treeline, in the direction that Tom had gestured the night before. He tried to think what he would say to her as he searched among the wet spider plants and foliage for a nest of furs, but came up blank. Eventually he found a fire circle, a pit surrounded neatly with stones, and burnt remains in the middle. Gendry felt his brow crease; Arya never lit a fire at night, not for the last month. Why would she have lit one the night before, especially if she didn't want to found? Gendry searched in the vicinity for any sign of her, but there was nothing, and with each yard that contained no clues a knot formed in his stomach. There was no sign that anyone had been there at all, no patch that had been lain on, no footsteps, no disturbances- it looked like she hadn't been there at all, and Gendry began to suspect that that was exactly the case.

Ten minutes later he was shaking Jayce awake by the shoulder. The boy woke quickly, and pushed himself onto one arm. His eye was still somewhat swelled, but the uninjured one looked at him quizzically. "Jayce, where is Astrid?" He asked quickly.

"Lady Arya's mare?" Jayce asked. "With the others, over-" He stopped short when he saw the empty space between two bay horses in the makeshift pen. "Maybe milady went for a morning ride?"

"Aye, either that or she went for a late night ride last night," Gendry said dryly, standing up. "Fuck!" He turned around impatiently, scrubbing his face with his hand. He knew immediately now, it was obvious. Arya was too smart for her own good, and too stubborn by far too. Lighting the fire, making a scene, acting as if she was going to bed... far too smart. "Jayce, start waking people up, we need to be ready to leave as soon as possible."

He didn't wait for the boys reply, but strode off towards the Brotherhood. "Wake up!" He said sharply, nudging them. "Get up- Lem, Tom. Where's Anguy?"

Tom looked at him reproachfully, clearly disgruntled with being woken up to such a sharp tone. "Off with some camp follower most like, why?"

"Arya's gone," Gendry said shortly.

"Arya's missing?" Lem said, standing up heavily.

"No, not missing," Gendry said darkly. "I know exactly where she's gone."

* * *

"Steady little mare, shh now," Arya said, pulling up the mare, first to a canter and then a walk. They had been riding hard for the whole night, and most of the morning too now, though it was hard to tell with the sky so dark. It had been raining since dawn, thick, sleeting, freezing rain, which made it difficult to see clearly. Arya had the hood of her cloak drawn right up, but it did little good against the driving rain, and icy water cascaded down her face. She blinked rapidly to keep the water out of her eyes, trying to assess where exactly she was, but it did little good as she didn't know the woods well even in daylight.

She supposed she had ridden for at least five leagues, but she couldn't be sure. They had been about ten leagues in when the company stopped last night, and the road through the Kingswood was around forty leagues... if she was right then she should be coming to the Wendwater soon enough, but with it raining this hard there was a risk that it could be too flooded to wade across. She supposed that was a good thing; she might be able to get through with just Astrid, but there was no way the company all day at least, which would give her more time.

She had left before midnight, and unless the company had woken in the very early hours of the morning then they had likely only set off a few hours ago, putting her a good eight or so hours ahead of them, more seeing as she was travelling so much faster and lighter.

She wondered if Gendry knew yet; she supposed he must, by now at least. It was normal for her to ride away from the company slightly, and while she normally checked in with Gendry once or twice he probably hadn't been expecting her to after their fight. By now someone would have noticed though, she was sure of it, and she was just glad that she was not the one having to deal with Gendry's temper.

She had made up her mind almost as soon as she had left him, and had made sure to give herself as much time as possible. She had grabbed her sleeping things and taken them off into the trees, far enough that no one could see her but near enough to camp that the light of the fire she lit was clearly visible through the dark. Then, when the squires were asleep she had simply taken Astrid, and left.

She wondered who it was that discovered she was missing; Anguy, perhaps, or Greenbeard. Maybe even Gendry himself. The moment she thought of him Arya felt a pang in her stomach; anger, she supposed, but something else too. Guilt? She shook her head. She had no reason to be guilty, it was him who had been an ass last night. She grabbed a strip of salted venison from her pack and worried the tough meat with her teeth, hoping it would settle her stomach. As she chewed she smirked. She would show him; it should be easy enough. If she could get to Bronzegate, or wherever the fire had been she could get an idea of what had happened; if there was no one there then she could ride back and tell Gendry... or she could wait for him there. She would love to see his face when he found her. A moment later Arya frowned; pettiness wasn't the point of this mission.

If there were people there she would observe; if they were bandits she would be able to suss out numbers, strength, positioning. She could even take a captive, if she had the opportunity, and then question him on who they were. If there were any tracks she would scope them out, see where they had been headed... though the pouring rain had likely destroyed any prints there may have been.

For the first time, Arya actually considered how Gendry might react. Badly, she suspected. _Asshole_ , she thought harshly. He didn't think she could do a simple scoping mission. Didn't think she could fight in a battle. She muttered under her breath, her lips pulled down in a frown. She needed to focus, not think about Gendry. She needed to prepare.

She thought over everything she knew about the Black Knight in her mind. Somehow he wasn't entirely human, he was headed northwards... for what? There was a reason that bandits stayed in the south, generally speaking; apart from Dorne, where settlements were spread out across hot, sandy deserts and marches, the south was simply easier to raid. More people, richer land- and therefore richer villages and towns- and more pickings.

Arya shook her head; this whole situation, it didn't add up. Greenbeard had said that the report was that the Black Knight had been seen in the Stormlands, leading the bandits, about a half year ago. But there were bandits- presumably the same as before- still in the Stormlands, while the Black Knight was heading north with a different set of raiders. Olyvar had said they weren't from the pass above Duskendale, so was it possible the Black Knight had split the Stormlands raiders and taken some up north with him? Had Gendry misjudged the numbers? If so, and they had split up, why then would the fire have been made to challenge them?

Arya chewed her lip. There was something very wrong going on here. For the first time, it crossed her mind that perhaps the iron born and Elmar Frey had made some kind of deal with the raiders. After all, Bronzegate wasn't far from the coast line, and iron born ships could easily have been there... but there hadn't been any reports.

Arya shook her head; there was little point in speculating. The House of Black and White had taught her that; wait until you have all of the facts. Scope things out, learn every detail before you make a move. That was what Arya intended to do.

* * *

Gendry gaped in dismay at the Wendwater. It wasn't flooded exactly, but it had risen quickly, and it would be near impossible to get the entire company over it in a day, and night was nearing. Arya would be well on the other side by now, whatever her plan was. Gendry clenched his jaw.

"Lord, what do you want to do?" Lem asked, the others stood behind him.

Gendry turned around. "We'll cross," he said firmly, pinning Greenbeard with a glare when he made to interrupt. "I know we can't get the company over in time, but at least some of us can, and then we can try and find Arya before it's too late. I want her stopped before she gets there."

Anguy stepped forwards. "Gendry, I'll come with you, we all will- but she's a day ahead of us. We won't get her on time."

Gendry shook his head and made to mount Rogue again. "She thinks there's a whole company trying to catch up with her. We'll make faster time alone, and she'll have to stop for a few hours at least, if only to let the horse rest, hours which we'll be riding. We'll find her," he said, swinging up into the saddle, "and when we do, I'll throw her over my saddle and she won't be leaving it until we reach Storms End."

* * *

The smell of smoke was on the air. Ash and charcoal and burning hair mingled with pine and oak and undergrowth. It made Arya's head spin, it lay over her like a heavy blanket, wet wool. It had stopped raining, and the heat of the overhead sun caused the water to rise back into the air, mist swirling around her ankles. Sweat clung to her skin, plastering her hair, sticky and itchy, to the back of her neck. She pushed it away impatiently and licked her lips. Her clothes were uncomfortably damp, dried off from crossing the ford but still moist enough to rub her skin. She ignored it and swung off of Astrid's back.

"Go on, girl," she said, tying the reins so that they wouldn't slip around the mares neck. She pushed the mare's neck, but she just snorted, her ears pricked forwards. Arya hummed gently, and phased into her, just enough to persuade the horse to trot back the way she had come. She would continue alone from here; she would be too easily noticed if she had a fancy horse, or indeed any horse, and she was stealthier on foot.

As she progressed through the trees the smell of smoke grew stronger, and soon enough she began to see signs of a settlement nearby, pathways through the foliage. The nearer she drew to the sight the deeper the ash filled the footsteps she followed. She could hear voices, which grew more distinct with each step she took. The trees began to break slightly, and the ground opened up. Arya crouched down and crawled under a hedge, taking in the scene before her.

Black, against a blue sky. Black walls, black stones, black wood. Everything in sight, blackened by the fire. She could still feel the heat coming off of the rubble that had yet to be touched, smoking, burning piles of what were peoples homes just a day and a night prior. The nearest building- or what remained of it- was no more than fifteen yards away. Three of its walls were still standing, though the roof had collapsed entirely. The other shells of houses were a bit further away. Arya waited, and then darted out.

Swift as a deer _._ Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. She didn't pause as she pulled herself up onto the window and vaulted inside, landing silently on her feet. It was thick with smoke inside, as she had hoped it would be, enough that no one was likely to come in, and no one was likely to see her should they pass by. She crept over to the front wall and crouched down. There was a long crack between the rough stones, where it had not been built with mortar, forming a gap just big enough for her to see out of.

The village was small, no more than ten or twelve cottages, all of them charred and collapsing. Wagons lay tipped over, their contents spilled across the mud, gritty and grey with the still falling ash. And, in the mud, lying like broken rag dolls, were the bodies. Burnt, shrunken carcasses. Arya allowed her gaze to move past them. She had seen this before, too many times for her to let it affect her when there was work to be done.

Just past the bodies there was a sort of pen, the kind made by knocking wooden beams together so that they hold each other up. The kind one might use to keep pigs in. Yet it was not pigs inside, or sheep, but humans. Women and children, mostly. Arya estimated there to be about twenty of them, maybe fewer. A guard stood, leaning against the fence, his back to her. Arya watched as one of the children began to wail, and he turned around and cuffed it, sending it sprawling into the mud.

She wanted to charge out, to stick Needle through his gullet and watch his life flow out of him, hot and thick and red, wanted to watch him suffer. But she didn't. Instead she inhaled and forced herself to repeat those words that had saved her life so many times before. _Just so. Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth._ Syrio's words, from all those years ago. See with her eyes. Hear with her ears.

Arya forced herself to look past the prisoners. In the centre of the hamlet there was what looked to be some kind of communal storage barn, still in good enough condition, all the walls and roof intact. Laughter and speech floated out of the windows. Arya watched carefully, taking in every detail. There was only one door, but she didn't know which way it opened. That was still good though; only one escape route. The roof was thatch, surprising it hadn't caught fire. There was one window, but small and high up.

As she watched three men came out, swigging ale from heavy tankards. They carried crude swords and wore leather and chain mail, but nothing else. Simple. And just like what she saw at Duskendale. Arya watched them walk over to the one guarding the prisoners. She couldn't hear them, but one of them, tall and bearded, pointed into the pen. The guard nodded, and Arya watched with fury as they climbed over the fence and dragged a young woman out of the pen, ignoring her wails.

The bearded one began to half carry her away, and Arya realised with start that he was heading for the building she was in. Quick as a snake, she crawled behind a table, which was lying on its side. She listened as he pulled her in, sobbing, and threw her onto the stinking straw pallet. Arya's hand went to her knife, her hand tightening a round the hilt.

Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya silently pushed away from the table, any sounds covered by the girls terrified shrieks. The man was fumbling at her skirts, and the girl pressed her face into the straw, trying to forget what was happening. Arya supposed that it was better to do while the girl wasn't watching.

Arya's hand flashed, and her knife slit through bone and sinew. Hot, black blood sprayed out of his throat, and he gurgled sickeningly before falling forwards. Arya wiped her knife on her breeches and shoved him off the frozen girl with her foot. The girl bolted upright and took one look at the mans body. Arya shot forward and pressed her hand against the girls mouth, half a second before her scream alerted the whole camp.

Arya pressed her finger to her lips. "Quickly, there isn't much time," she breathed. The girls breathing was ragged and she stared at Arya in fear, but nodded. Arya waited for a couple of seconds and then, slowly, took her hand away. Immediately the girl's face snapped towards her attacker's desecrated body, and fear flashed across her face again. Arya shook her head. "Forget him; we need to go, now. Get up."

She took the girls elbow and pulled her up. She was taller than Arya, with filthy blond hair falling out of a tangled braid. "Out the window," Arya breathed. "Now." She helped the girl across the room, guiding her through the smoke and rubble. "When it's clear run straight for the trees and don't stop," she instructed as she gave the girl a boost up onto the window ledge. "Keep going. You may come across a company of men. Ask for Lord Baratheon, and don't be afraid to tell him who you are. Got it?"

The girl nodded. "I...thank you," she whispered. Arya swallowed.

"Go, now." The girl jumped off the ledge, and Arya watched as she waited, and then sprinted for the trees, where she quickly disappeared into the growth. Once it was clear Arya had to think. The guards would come when the man didn't return, and they would find his body.

Moving quickly, Arya dragged his body over to the half of the building that was deepest in fallen roof. She didn't have much time, not enough to do the job properly, but if she was quick... Arya gripped her knife and hacked off a long strand of his hair, and then stripped him of his leather vest, chain mail and sword. She rolled his body under the rubble and covered him as best as she could.

Her fingers got to work immediately, twisting and plaiting the strands of hair among her own. She dressed in his clothes and, when she was done, pulled out the knife she had used to kill him. She had only wiped it hastily, and the blade was still slick with blood, pooling in the runners. She collected it up, still warm, on her fingertips and drew a line across her forehead with it. It wouldn't do quite the same as changing face, but it would do enough to get her in.

She probed her face with her fingers, as she always did, and noted no changes in her face; her lips were still chapped, her cheeks still soft. She held up the blade of the knife, and reflected back to her was the face of the girl's would be assailant; thick eyebrows, ruddy cheeks, a hook nose and a trimmed beard. As she looked at it she began to see through it; glamours were not so reliable as other faces, but it was better than nothing.

* * *

When she exited the cottage smoke was already billowing from the open roof, and shouts of alarm were raised. She cleared her throat and then strode towards the pen that was filled with the prisoners. The two guards she had observed earlier crossed over to her.

"Haesten, what the fuck?" The one growled. Arya saw his fists clench at his sides. "Care to explain why that building is on fire?"

Arya-or rather, Haesten- shrugged and smirked. "Stupid bitch wouldn't stay still." The angry guard motioned for her to continue. "I broke her neck, and set fire to her. Figured that it didn't matter if the building went up too." She said it maliciously, a cruel sneer crossing across her false face. Of course, it wasn't the girl that was burning, she should be well into the forest by now, but the real Haesten. Well, she couldn't have someone running into the body while she was inhabiting his face, could she?

The guard in front of her let out a string of curses. "We're here to do a job, not fuck and fire up houses that don't matter."

Arya sucked her teeth and stroked the coarse beard at her chin. "Yeah?" She asked slowly. "And what is that? Because I don't see anything to do other than fuck and fire." She chuckled under her breath and watched as the man in front of her fumed silently. "Perhaps you should give it a go, you look like you need to relax."

The angry guard, taller than Haesten by half a head but also half as wide, stepped closer, and Arya could see the vein throbbing at his temple. "Don't act the dumb cunt, you know that we are here for them," he snapped, pointing towards the pen. "We have to be ready at a moments notice, or have you forgotten?" He snarled. "You know what he'll do if he gets angry." With that he shoved Arya's- or Haesten's- shoulder roughly. "Don't. Make. Him. Angry." He turned and stalked off, and Arya could practically see the anger radiating from him.

Playing her part, Arya swore under her breath and slammed a thick hand down onto the fence, causing several of the prisoners to squeak and shudder away in fear. The other guard shrugged. "He is right, an arse, that's true, but right. Do you want to end up watching your own guts being pulled out of your belly while you still breathe?"

Arya shot him an irritated look. "It's not like he would be concerned with me, just one of his band. I doubt he'll much care for one wench either." She gestured to the building, where the real Haesten's skin was melting off of his bones. She rubbed her beard and exhaled. "I need a pissing drink," she grumbled, and headed to the central building, where she assumed the majority of the band were.

As she neared she could hear raucous laughter, smell beer that had not been left to brew for long enough. She pushed through the doors and strode confidently to the barrels, snatching a wooden tankard from the side. As she tapped the ale she took in her surroundings subtly. No more than twenty men, but likely several more spotted about the burned village. Thirty then, no great difficulty. As she watched their drunken roaring she resisted shaking her head; the fools- they should be more wary. That guard that had yelled at her had the right of it; even if there wasn't the threat of the Black Knight- she assumed- they should be more vigilant than this. Again, she wondered if it was all some set up, some big rouse to draw someone into a trap- but who? Gendry? What would the point of that be?

She waited until the ale slopped over the sides of the tankard and then made her way over a bench in the corner of the room, adopting a sulky expression. The closest table to her seemed particularly rowdy, and she attempted to hone in their conversation, but it seemed to her just a lot of useless drivel. She was just considering getting up and leaving when one of the drunk men stood abruptly and announced loudly that he was going for a piss. Arya watched as he went out of the door and set her tankard down before standing up and leaving, putting weight behind her steps to avoid someone asking her where she was going.

For a moment Arya thought she had lost him and kicked herself internally- some faceless assassin she was!- but then she saw him head around the back of one of the semi standing cottages. She edged her way across the muddied ground and pressed herself against the corner.

Moments later her knife was pressed closely against the mans throat. In his panic the man inhaled, ready to shout out, but her hand covered his mouth instantly. "Squeal and I'll cut your throat to the bone," she growled in Haesten's deep tones. He nodded and then winced as the movement caused the blade to nick his skin.

Stumbling under his weight Arya forced him around, and peered around the corner; the building he had chosen wasn't far from the trees, near where she had sent the girl. Arya weighed her options; she could either force him across to the trees and hope they weren't seen, or she could kill him now and leave quietly before it was noticed. She shook herself and steeled her nerve. If she killed him now she wouldn't have a chance to get more information.

"Listen here, scum," she whispered. "Do as I say and this knife stays clean. Got it?" He nodded, more carefully this time, and, taking a deep breath, Arya pushed him forwards. She forced herself to walk- running would only be more awkward and likely to attract attention. Each step they grew closer to the trees, yard by yard until they had reached the shadows. Arya pushed him on until they were out of sight, and then quickly relieved him of his only sword, a rusted half blunt thing. She shoved him forwards.

"Walk," she ordered. "Quickly, or I'll run you through." She followed behind him, directing him through the trees until she knew they were far enough away. When they were Arya shoved him against a sturdy oak and took him in. He was of middling height, with lusterless brown hair and eyes. His member still swung free of his breeches, and she sneered inwardly with disgust at how pathetic he was, whimpering and cowering before her. _It'll be easy getting what I want out of him_ , she thought absently, as she flicked her knife in her hand.

"Haesten?" He asked, his eyes narrowing in confusion, jaw quivering. "What- whats going on?"

Arya breathed out heavily. "And I thought maybe you were clever," she sighed. "I told you to be silent." She flashed her knife and he flinched away. Arya smirked. "Do as I say, and this has no reason to come anywhere near you. Understand?" He nodded. "Good. Then tell me, who are you?"

The man opened and closed his lips in confusion. "I- you know who I am, what do you mean?"

Arya cocked her head and grinned slowly, "You people have no imagination," she said disparagingly, before slowly dragging her hand down her face, feeling the glamour fall away like water. She watched as the mans face grew into one of horror and grinned. She wouldn't normally have taken off her disguise but it was tiring to maintain and who was he going to tell? She had no plans of letting him walk away afterwards. "Now, tell me who you are or else I'll snip off that thing between your legs and I'll feed it to the crows."

The man struggled with his words before stuttering out an answer. "'Rick, Lady. Just a soldier is all."

Arya slammed her knife into the wood, half an inch from his ear, pressing her face up close to his as he squeezed his eyes shut tight. "You lie. Tell the truth this time."

He shuddered. "Raster. My name is Raster."

Arya nodded slowly and yanked out her knife. She turned around casually, before leaning against a tree, one knee bent, her foot against the trunk as she studied the tip of her knife. "And why are you here, Raster? What is it that you are doing here?" She asked without looking at him, but she knew he was trembling with fear, and some deep seated part of her relished in his fear, soaking it in like sunlight.

"We was told to take the village Lady," he said. "Jus' to take as many alive as possible. Preferably women an' chillun." Arya gestured impatiently fro him to continue. "Tha's all, jus' take 'em, an' wait for a group of others to tell us the plan."

Arya looked up sharply. "A group? Sent by who?"

"I don't know, just that they come from up north of 'ere," he said, his face white. "They was meant to join us weeks ago , but they never did so we jus' went along with the plan."

Arya bit the tip of her tongue to stop herself from accidentally speaking her thoughts. This man, Raster, he believed that a group was coming to tell them further plans, a group heading south. Could it be that the group that had been tagging the company, the group she had encountered following their stay at the Crossroads, was the one he spoke of? They had been heading south, too far from the Company to be spies, and she had never learned why.

But why would Euron want petty bandits to burn some random village in the Kingswood? If it was slaves that he wanted then why choose a place right on the Baratheon Company route? _He's goading me_ , Arya knew. _He doesn't need to goad Gendry, he has no reason to. It's me that he is taunting._ Arya felt a shiver run through her body at the realisation. Euron slaughtered a village jut to prove a point, just to taunt her. Arya allowed herself to shutter her eyes for a second as she thought. The angered guard earlier, the one that had yelled at who had thought to be Haesten- he had described what Arya had thought at the time to be the Black Knight, but what if it was nothing to do with him? What if she had been right in thinking this was a challenge, but wrong in the opponent?

Slowly horror coursed through her veins. So focused had she been on the Black Knight that she had forgotten the biggest threat, the real danger, but he hadn't forgotten her, as he had just made plain. Euron was an enemy that Arya didn't know how to face. She couldn't go after him, not if he was at sea, not while she was stuck in the Stormlands. Unless... what if the Black Knight was working with Euron? Euron had done it before, used raiders to round himself up captives to sell as slaves. The women and children at the village were to be taken somewhere, what if he planned to do the same now as he had years ago? Sell slaves to build an army- the army that Elmar Frey believed was his?

She turned back to Raster or whatever he was called, ignoring his pitiful attempts to tuck himself back into his britches. "Who? Who organised all of this?" She asked, more hurriedly than before, a sense of urgency now that she understood the truth of the burned village.

"I don't know, truly I don't," he stuttered, licking his lips. "We was told by another group of bandits, heading north. We were raiding down around the Straits o' Tarth when they came, promised us gold if we did it. That's true an all I know, lady." His face had gone sickly pale green, the whites of his eyes flashing when she stepped closer.

"What else can you tell me?" She purred. "There must be something. Where were you planning on taking the captives?"

He shook his head. "Tha's what the others, the group cumin' south was meant to tell us, but they ant' come yet. We was gonna wait another two days and then..."

Arya cocked her head. "And then...?" She stepped closer. "What were you going to do with them if the group didn't turn up?"

Her tone was softer than before, velvet and cream and all things gentle, but even the stupid man before her was able to detect the danger in it. "Please, I don' know, I don'-"

"Were you going to kill them?" She asked, disgusted with the turd before her. "Perhaps you were going to lock them all up in that building, and then burn it down with them inside?" She saw it in his face. "Ahh, that was your plan."

He shook his head as she stepped closer gain, pressing himself into the bark, akin to prey trapped by a snarling wolf. "Please, I wasun' , I want'd nought to do with it, I swear it."

"Oh I see," Arya said, her lip curling over her teeth. "You swear it. You were just going to watch. Well..." she cocked her head. "Now you can watch yourself bleed to death."

"No, I- please, please," the man pleaded, but it was too late.

Arya flashed her knife and suddenly there was blood, pouring from his groin. He yelled and made to run, but Arya yanked out another knife and slammed it through his shoulder, nailing him to the tree. "Did you have nothing to do with the burning either?" She snarled. "Or did you just watch that too?"

He cried out incoherently, his words all meshing ad muddling together as blood pooled at his feet, turning the green grass red.

"I counted seventeen dead bodies," Arya told him tonelessly, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side as she regarded his panic stricken face.. "When I trained in Braavos with the Faceless Guild I was taught never to use death for revenge, but what about all of those families back at the village? Do you think they feel the same?" She took a hold of the knife in his shoulder and twisted it slowly. "How do you think it feels to burn? To feel as your skin melts from your bones and your eyes melt in their sockets, your tongue swelling and bursting in your mouth? I imagine it feels a hundred times worse than this." She yanked out the knife and sunk it into another spot, watching the agony on his face. "That's how I'm going to make you feel," she whispered, just before she saw the acceptance in his eyes, the look of prey knowing that he was going to die.

Arya smiled wolfishly.

* * *

Gendry pulled up his horse roughly, bring his fist up to tell his men to halt. Rogue flattened his ears at the harsh yank on the reins, but Gendry ignored him; he had seen movement in the tree's. They had been riding hard all day, him and those that had been the Brotherhood, along with some of his household guard. The rest of the Company was still struggling at the swollen waters of the ford.

"Lord, what it is?" Lem asked, his horse pulling in a circle. "Raiders?"

"No," Gendry said. "Over there, movement. Anguy, knock your bow. Train it in those trees."

"Already on it," Anguy said, and Gendry heard the creak of the string being pulled tight. "Shall I fire a warning shot?"

Gendry nodded. "Just into that elm. Whatever it is will come out soon enough." For a moment he thought he saw brown hair, and almost shouted for Anguy to wait, in case it was Arya, but it was too late. The arrow struck the tree with a loud thwack, followed shortly by a loud shriek. _That wasn't Arya_ , he thought, urging his horse forward a few steps. It wasn't Arya but it was definitely a girl.

"Come out," he called, his voice deep and authoritative. "No need to hide, we won't hurt you."

He waited a beat, and then a beat more, and then there was a movement again. He watched, his brow raised as a girl stepped out from behind a tree and moved towards the track. She was slight, but taller than Arya, in a ragged brown dress. Her hair was so filthy that it appeared brown, as he had mistaken moments ago, but now that it was in the light he saw that it was actually blonde.

"Who are you, girl?" He asked, more kindly than before. "Come now, we won't hurt you. Are you from the village?"

The girl flicked a strand of hair from her face as she regarded him and nodded, her dirty face ridden with tears. Gendry took in the state of her dress once more and his stomach roiled uncomfortably as he took in the evidence of what had happened to her.

"Are you Lord Baratheon?" She whimpered. "I was told to ast for a Lord Baratheon."

He nodded, taken aback. "I am he," he said, before swinging down from his horse. No need to frighten the girl further. "May I ask who sent you?"

She teetered back a little as he neared her slowly, though she didn't move away. "I don't know milord," she whispered. "A girl. She saved me from one of the raiders at the village."

Gendry looked over his shoulder and saw the understanding on his mens faces; Arya. It must have been. She had gotten into the village undetected somehow. For a moment he felt pure relief, relief that she was- or had been- alright, relief that she had saved this girl from a tortuous fate. Then he felt anger again. Anger that she had not only gone ahead with her plan to spy on them, but that she had evidently gone into the village rather than simply observe. Anger that there must have been a chance to get out if she had sent this girl away but had chosen to stay. Then worry. Worry that she had been discovered, or hurt in her attempt to free this girl.

Gendry shook himself and shrugged off his cloak. He handed it to the girl slowly and waited for her to take it. She eyed him nervously and then took it, mumbling her thanks as she shrugged it on. "I understand that you are afraid," Gendry said, gently but firmly, "but I need you to tell me everything. Everything that you can." He gently put a hand on her shoulder. "Can you do that for me?"

She nodded. "They came a couple of days ago," she whispered. "Out of nowhere. Set the village alight. They killed my family, all of them." Gendry felt his blood boil. "They put the survivors in a pen and set guards to watch us. They were waiting for something, I think. Then this morning one of the men took me from the pen and into one of the buildings." She blushed and looked away, uncomfortable. "He was going to force himself on me but before he could she killed him. She came out of nowhere, I didn't even see her. She just slit his throat. Told me to climb out of the window and run into the woods for as far as I could, until I found you."

Gendry sighed and rubbed his jaw. Arya... what was he going to do with her? If he found her alive that was. Gendry pushed the thought from his mind, and looked back at the girl. "What is your name?" He asked gently.

"Faye," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

"I'm very sorry that this has happened to you, Faye," Gendry told her earnestly. "I cannot give you back your family or your home, but I can give you a position in my household, if you want it."

Faye looked up, disbelief etched into her face. "Truly, milord? You would do that for- for me?"

Gendry nodded. "I will make sure that you are safe," he promised. "But now I must go to the village. One of my men will escort you to the Wendwater Ford, where the rest of my men are. You will be safe with them."

She stepped forwards and grasped his hand, in a manner that surprised him, before touching shaking lips to his skin. "Thank you, Lord," she whispered, her voice trembling with heart felt words. "Thank you."

He smiled and signalled for one of his household guards to take her, and watched as she was lead away to his horse. He sighed and looked to Lem and the other men. "We need to find her," he said. "These men sound ruthless. We can't attack them until we know she is safe, or the gods only know what might happen. If only-"

"If only you had more confidence in my abilities."

Gendry snapped around and felt his heart skip a beat as he saw her, stood before him as if nothing were wrong. Gendry searched her quickly for injuries but as far as he could see there were none, not a single scratch. Apart from a few smuts of soot on her skin and clothing she looked as if nothing at all had happened, with her hands tucked neatly behind her back.

Gendry wanted to run to her. He wanted to envelop her so tightly in his arms that he lifted her off the ground. He wanted to breathe in the sweet scent of her hair and feel her against him, safe and unharmed.

When he spoke, his voice was hard. "Lem, Anguy- you may as well head back to the ford. All of you."

Arya watched him expressionlessly as he ordered his men. "What of you, Gendry?" Anguy asked, shifting in the saddle.

Gendry turned around, knowing that she would still be there in a moment. "We will catch you up in a moment. I need to have a word with milady." Anguy nodded and Gendry waited and watched as the small group turned about and trotted back the way they had come. He waited another few minutes just to be sure, his back stiff and fists clenched at his thighs.

Finally he turned around. Arya was still stood calmly, a few yards away. Without a word Gendry stalked towards her, and without breaking his progress, grabbed her roughly by the elbow and dragged her behind him into the trees and off the track. Arya didn't speak or struggle against him, but allowed him to pull her around to face him.

* * *

Arya took in Gendry as he stood before her, his muscled chest heaving with anger, his face dark in the shadows of the trees. He let go of her elbow and Arya felt the blood go rushing back down her arm. She braced herself for the tirade she was sure was coming, but it didn't. After a minute Arya spoke.

"Aren't you going to yell at me?" She asked coldly. "Tell me that what I did was dangerous, and reckless and that you can't trust me?"

"What's the point?" He said, equally as cold. "You never listen to me anyway. I have told you over and over again, yet still you put yourself in danger. Help me, Arya, because truly I am at a loss."

Arya bit her lip, trying to read his face, but he was covered by the shadows. "I told you that I could do it."

Gendry's eyes flashed. "So you did it all just to prove a point?" He stepped closer to her and Arya stepped back, cursing herself when she felt the rough bark of a tree scratching her tunic.

"I did it because you wouldn't listen to me," Arya answered. "I did it because it was necessary. And I was right, too."

"You think I care if I was right or wrong?" Gendry asked, his voice rough, lowering his head. "You think that during the days and nights that I had no idea if you were alive or dead I cared if I had been right? Arya, I..." He put a hand to the side of her head, angling her face up. "Arya I could think only that I needed you to be safe. To be alive."

"I am alive," Arya said, "you didn't need to worry." Her tone was reassuring,and she placed her hand over his, but at her words his hold on her seemed to harden, as did his eyes.

"I worry because you have no regard for your own safety," he snarled. "I don't care that you defied me, Arya, truly I have grown to accept that you always will, but that you not only left alone to spy on the raiders- raiders who murdered an entire village- you also entered the camp!" Arya raised her brows questioningly. "That girl, the one you sent while you stayed behind, told me. So you must have been right in the camp. Arya, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that we needed information," she snapped, moving away from his hand. "I was thinking that seeing as I was in, and unrecognised, I may as well gather whatever intel I could."

"Damn it Arya, that's not what I meant and you know it!" Gendry bellowed suddenly. "You have no care, no regard for your own life! You tell me over and over that you want me to trust you-"

"I do, I do want you to trust me-"

"Then fucking earn that trust!" He yelled again, slamming his hand into the tree behind her. Arya guarded her face but had she not trained against it she knew that, in that moment, she would have sucked in a shaky breath and pressed away from him. Instead she looked straight into his eyes, eyes full of anger, frustration and... fear. "Arya, I... I know that you're not afraid of murderers or- or rapers, or whoever, I know that you don't need protecting. But even though you don't need it, I still want- nae, need to protect you... do you understand that?" His voice was as rough as a sand sheet, but the words crashed into her in a way that they never had before. He... wanted to keep her safe because... he cared about her. Because he was there and he wanted to protect her.

Arya chewed her lip, unsure how to respond. He watched her intently, his eyes drifting down slowly from her tormented eyes to the lip she tugged between her teeth. As his eyes travelled back up to hers and their gazes met he stepped closer again, his hand sliding down the tree until it rested just above her shoulder.

"Gendry..." Arya whispered, lost in the heat of his gaze. "I don't know how to... I don't know what to do." And she didn't, she truly, honestly didn't. She felt so torn, so conflicted, like a war was raging within herself and against herself and the same time. She wanted to be the lone wolf, the ruthless assassin, the angry, bitter and icy being that she had been for so long... but she also wanted him. She wanted Gendry, and his heat, she wanted his advice and his companionship. She wanted to ride with him, as she had wanted so long ago when he was a boy who didn't know who he was and she was a girl who had lost everything.

"You don't have to always know the answer, Arya," he said lowly. "You don't always have to be strong. Let me show you."

Arya hesitated, her stomach tied in knots. Less than an hour ago Arya had been torturing a man. Before that she had been infiltrating a camp of murderers. But now she was standing here, caged in by the man she had come to realise she cared for more than almost anyone, ready to crumble into his arms. Who was she? Was she the lone wolf, who howled for her pain and killed to gain control? Or was she the girl, who longed to allow herself to be held for once? As she looked into his eyes Arya knew she could never be both.

Arya let out a tense breath and stepped forward just a little. That was enough for him, the sign he had been waiting for, and Gendry closed the rest of the small distance between them, pulling her into his arms as he had been longing to do since the instant he realised she was gone. He lifted her up off her feet, and Arya wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck and breathing in that scent that she so loved. She could feel his heat, the warmth that made it feel as though he had a whole sun blazing under his skin. In her arms he felt so real, so steady, a rope to hold onto as she struggled through the dark. Her prayer, her need for vengeance, each one a single strand, enough to give her hope but liable to snap if she held them too tightly, faded away in comparison to Gendry. He was an anchor, her anchor. Real and strong and hers. Arya felt tears prick her eyes as she realised how much he really meant to her, and struggled to keep them from spilling over as he smoothed his fingers through her hair, inhaling deeply. Arya felt, for the first time in years, that perhaps she could allow herself this one thing in her life, this one light in the dark.

"Arya?" He asked suddenly, his tone tinged with something strange.

"Hmm?" She hummed, as he slid her down a little, his fingers plucking something in her hair.

"What's this?"

Arya's stomach plummeted.

* * *

 **Well that was a long one! I hope you enjoyed it, there was a lot going on in this chapter! Again, I'm so sorry for how long this took, I've just been super busy, I will try and keep up better for the next chapter. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, Arya has had a bit of a wild ride in this one. Please, please, ever so pretty please with a cherry on top leave a review, just so I know where you guys are at with this story and what you want! It would super help me if you could! Ok, I hope you enjoy the next chapter- when it arrives- and thanks so much for sticking with me so far! Over and Out xoxo**

 **P.S- I made up the whole glamour thing; I know it isn't strictly what the books say, but I feel like it's kind of open to interpretation! I hope you enjoyed it!**


	35. The Fall

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own it. Nuh uh. Not mine.**

 **I'd say I hope you're all enjoying November- boy, where did October even go?- but lets face it, by the time I post this chapter it'll probably be Christmas or something! Anyway, I don't have much to say this time, a part from thanks so much for sticking with STMS and especially to all of you that left reviews or pm'd me to let me know your thoughts! It's always so great to hear what you guys think! With that, I shall leave you to it! Over and Out xox**

 **RECAP**

 **Arya sneaks off at night against Gendry's orders (who is even surprised at this point?) and Gendry chats with the Brotherhood. In the morning he realizes she is missing, and the company make haste, but get stuck at the swollen ford. Arya has had a big head start and sneaks into the attacked village. She saves a girl from being raped, and then uses the rapists hair and blood to construct a crude glamour, in order to sneak into the raiders gathering better. She finds out that whoever was in charge terrifies the other men. She later takes one of the raiders captive, uses him to find out what she can and then somewhat brutally kills him, after coming to the conclusion that Euron is behind the attack and taunting her, while collecting slaves again. Meanwhile, the girl she saved meets Gendry, who has ridden ahead of the stuck Brotherhood with some other men and tells him what happened. Moments later Arya appears. Gendry sends the others back to the company so they can talk. They argue about what she did, before Gendry tells Arya that he knows she doesn't need protection but he still feels the need to protect her because of what she means to him. His words make Arya freeze and suddenly she is terrified because she feels torn between choosing the darker side of herself and the side that cares for Gendry. For a second she thinks that maybe its time to let go of all of the past and choose Gendry, until he discovers something that scares her.**

* * *

Arya felt herself tense at his question, as if she had been plunged into the icy waters of the Shivering Sea. A million thoughts raced through her mind, one being how very, utterly foolish she had been.

After she had killed the raider in the woods Arya had made sure that her clothing and skin was blood free, scrubbing it from her hands and under her nails in a trickling stream off the Wendwater. She had straightened her clothing, taken off Haesten's clothes, the other man she had killed that day, and hidden it, along with his blunt, bent sword in a hollow tree. She had been certain she was spotless of any evidence of what she had done that day. She had been meticulous...

but not meticulous enough.

She had forgotten the braid.

Arya could still remember her first glamour. The Kindly man had sent her out with just her concealed finger knife, and told her what she needed to do. The girl she had chosen was one who was half dead in a side alley, no more than skin, bone and sickness. Arya had given her the gift, taken her blood and cut off a strand of lank hair. When she returned to the Temple she had been taught how to take another's appearance without a mask to hand. The Kindly Man had explained to her that a person could not change their face properly unless they had already made and worn the carefully made mask, but that a person could still conceal their identity through the use of glamours.

 _"Mummers change their faces with artifice, and sorcerers use glamours, weaving light and shadow and desire to make illusions that trick the eye. These you will learn to do," the Kindly Man explained to her. "But only when you are ready."_

 _"And when will that be?" Arya had asked._

 _" All sorcery comes at a cost, child. Years of prayer and sacrifice and study are required to work a proper glamour," he told her lightly, smiling at her childish innocence._

Arya had been taught the ways to hide herself behind such sorcery, to use shadow and suggestion. Men see what they expect to see, whether it be because of a dead man's boots, a hank of hair, a bag of finger bones. With whispered words and prayer, a man's shadow could be drawn forth from such and draped about another like a cloak. And that was exactly what Arya had done with Haesten; she had smeared his blood across her forehead, where she had made her own sacrifice to the Many Faced God all those years ago. She had interwoven his hair with hers. She had taken his clothing, his armour and his weapons and she had made herself an illusion of him so strong that she had been able to walk into the raiders camp without arousing a single thought of doubt or suspicion.

But she couldn't tell Gendry that.

Couldn't tell him that she had stolen another mans likeness moments after she had slit his throat. Couldn't show him what she truly was, a cold blooded killer, with ice in her veins and murder in her heart. Not after he had just offered her light and hope and safety.

"Arya?"

Arya snapped back to reality as he set her gently on her feet. His brows were knitted together in bewilderment as he fingered the hastily made braid. In the shifting light it was easy to see that the softer, darker strands of hair were Arya's and the lighter, coarser hair was from another head entirely.

Arya forced herself to not bite her lip. "The braid?" She asked, her tone light with casual question. "Oh it's nothing. Just something silly."

Gendry lowered his thick brows, throwing his eyes deeper into shadow. "But what is it? Arya," he frowned in disgust, "is that someone elses hair? Surely it is, for its so coarse- Arya, what is this?"To Arya's object horror he leaned down and sniffed it, before pulling away sharply. "Arya, there's blood in it!"

Arya bit her tongue- how stupid, stupid, stupid she was! "Look, it's just a stupid talisman sort of thing," she shrugged. "It's kind of morbid..." Kind of was nowhere near to the truth, but Gendry just raised a brow.

"A talisman?" He asked, suspicious.

Arya forced herself to blush and stepped around him, waiting for him to fall into step beside her. "When I was with the Dothraki they told me of it. I sacrificed a horse, cut off a hank of hair and burned the ends. The Dothraki believe that when the hair, if blessed correctly, is woven with yours then the horses spirit will keep you safe." She forced a laugh. "It's stupid, I know."

For a second Arya was certain that she hadn't fooled him, but then he chuckled and tweaked the plait that was made from the hair of a dead man. "Yeah, it is. I've never seen you wear it before," he said, as they reached Rogue. "I don't think I've ever even seen it at all."

Arya snorted. "Well, I don't know why I suddenly remembered it, but I had it hidden in my saddle bag. I must have put it there once long ago and forgotten about it," she shrugged. "I'll burn it later."

Gendry smiled. "Maybe you should hang on to it for now," he said in a jesting tone of voice. "After all, mayhaps a bit of added protection would be no bad thing for you." Arya elbowed him playfully for the jibe, though there was no malice in it.

"Maybe I should sacrifice you and hack off some of your hair," she teased as he swung up onto Rogues back.

"I'm not a horse though," he reminded her, pulling her up roughly, so that she nearly pitched right off the other side of the saddle.

"No, you're a horses arse," she clarified, regaining her balance. "And I'm sure that would please the horse god well enough."

* * *

"Anguy are you going to listen or not?" Gendry snarled as the freckled archer muttered something in Tom's ear, a smug smirk gracing his features. "Milady risked her life for this information."

Anguy snorted. "Don't we know it, you've been yelling about it for nigh on three days-"

"Anguy!" He snapped.

Arya rolled her eyes as the men began arguing, Anguy teasing Gendry mercilessly and Gendry responding by growing steadily more frustrated. Leaving them to bicker Arya pulled out her her knife and used the point of the blade to draw in the dirt. When she was done she knelt back, and raising her fingers to her lips, blew a loud and clear whistle.

"Are you going to bloody well listen or am I going to have to attack them by myself as well?" She asked with an eyebrow raised.

Gendry's face was dark with ill humour and he strode over to stand beside her kneeling form. "Over my dead body," he growled at her, his already poor mood worsened by Anguy's teasing.

"It will be if you lot don't bloody listen," Arya grumbled back as the others came to circle her diagram.

"Arya," Gendry growled, warning her.

Lem peered at the diagram closely from across the rough circle they had made. "This is the forest?" He asked, pointing at one of the lines she had drawn. She nodded. "And this is us, by the Wendwater?" She nodded again.

"After I crossed the Wendwater I rode out for a few miles, and then walked the rest on foot," she explained, demonstrating her route on the diagram. "I imagine it will take about three hours if we go on horseback, four if we do as I did. I suggest that stealth is more important on this attack than numbers."

"Surely numbers would be more beneficial?" The captain of Gendry's Household Guard, Darius, said. Arya liked him well enough; he was reserved, with shoulder length, sandy coloured, wavy hair, and light blue eyes, with a beak like nose. She had ridden with him several times before, and enjoyed his company better than most. "How many were there?"

"I counted about twenty men in the barn," she said, pointing at the rectangular shape in the centre of her diagram. "But I suspect there were around forty in total, stationed around the perimeter like so." She made small crosses around the diagram. "When I went-"

"Wait, you went into the centre of their camp?" Anguy asked, impressed.

"How else was I going to find out any of the information I needed?" Arya asked dryly. "Can I continue now?" Anguy nodded, and motioned for her to continue in mock seriousness. "As I was saying, when I was there it seemed that the majority of the guard was on the eastern side- they were likely anticipating any attack to come from Bronzegate. The other guard was here," she said, making another cross, "by the pen of captives. It's him we'll need to take out first. I suggest that one of us takes him out while the others wait in the trees for the say so."

"Let me guess," Gendry interrupted dryly. "You think that person should be you?"

Arya shrugged. "I know the layout the best. I'm least likely to be seen and I am the stealthiest out of all of you."

Before Gendry could protest Lem interjected. "Why not have our archer here just send a few arrows, that'd be quick enough." Anguy shifted his bow in agreement, clearly ready to do as Lem suggested.

Arya shook her head. "The only unobstructed shot wold be from here," she said, poking the drawing, "and even then you would have to shoot past the captives in the dark without hitting one. If you did it would be the end of our surprise attack, which we need for the rest of the plan to work with minimalized casualties." She cocked her head. "It would also mean that if you shot him, and someone noticed there wasn't someone there then there would be questions."

"In that case you can't be the one to take that guard out," Gendry said firmly. Arya was about to interrupt when he gestured at her. "If someone was to look out to check, and saw your tiny silhouette, there would be just as many questions raised. It needs to be a man if we want him to stand in as a decoy." Gendry looked like he was ready to defend his point, but he didn't need to.

"You're right," Arya conceded, studying the men before her. "It needs to be someone big enough to make a decent silhouette but small enough to be stealthy."

"Anguy?" Lem suggested, but Arya shook her head.

"No, we need an archer, it'll have to be someone else,." She studied the group, but it was Gendry that spoke.

"Lucky Dick," he suggested, motioning to a man towards the back of the group. "Dick, reckon you can do it?"

"Aye," he said, bowing his head. "Shouldn't be a problem, so long as me luck holds out." Arya nodded at him.

"Whats next?" Gendry asked, falling to a kneel just beside her, so that he was looking over her shoulder slightly.

"Once Dick gives the signal I would suggest that the men hiding here, in the tree line, come forwards, two at a time," she said. "Not to raise the attack, but so that they are near and ready for the next part. Now," she prodded the central diagram, "when I was there I payed attention to the layout of this building in particular. I think it was some sort of storage barn for the village, but the raiders seem to be using it as a base. There is only one window, and it is small and on the south wall. There is only one door, here, on the north wall, and opens outwards-"

"You noticed all of that?" One of the Household Guard asked, a youth with a hoop hanging from one ear. Arya nodded.

"Even if we had fewer in number I don't think they should pose a problem," Arya explained. "Their armour is sparse to non existent, their weapons are crude and they have no sense of unity."

"What if there is back up somewhere?" Darius asked dubiously.

"There isn't," Arya answered. "I heard them mention it while I was there. It's just them. Anyway, I think it would be best to catch them unawares anyway. Keep them all together. I would suggest that while the majority of us draw nearer, archers at the front, one slips around the back of the building and blocks up the window. It should then be fairly easy to smoke them out, whence the archers will be able to pick them off as they come. Any left can be rounded up by the rest of us. It'll be over in minutes." She sat back and surveyed the group, watching as they made sense of her plan.

"How do we smoke them out?" Tom asked. "You said there was only the window and the door, and if the window is blocked up and they have to leave through the door, unless there's a chimney there's no way to get smoke in." He pointed at the diagram frowning.

Arya shook her head. "There's a part of the thatch that has fallen away loose, it should be big enough to use. The person on the roof should be able to stick some smoking greenery there undetected, if all goes to plan."

"And if it doesn't?" Gendry asked suddenly. Arya turned slightly. "And what if the thatch just catches fire? Or the raiders notice it?"

"Gendry, the only other way would be to draw them into an open battle, which is a bad idea," Arya explained. "By drawing them into a fight it risks the lives of our men, regardless of how quickly we beat them. By catching them unawares like this we can be sure that none of ours get hurt."

"Apart from you, as I take it you mean to be the one on the roof," Gendry said hotly, glaring at her.

"Of course, I'm the smallest one here," she replied, feeling a spark of irritation. "All of you will be too heavy on the roof."

Gendry ignored her. "I don't want you there, Arya." Before she could argue he interrupted, standing up as she did the same. "You've already done your part. There's no need for you to be there."

"Then who would go on the roof?" Arya asked coldly, crossing her arms.

"Jack Be Lucky can change places with Dick, Dick is small enough to go on the roof," he said, nodding past her shoulder at Dick. Arya opened her mouth to argue, but he held his hand up. "I won't move on this Arya. You're staying here and that is final."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "Fine," she snapped. "I'll just stay here with Jayce then shall I? Or maybe I should ride off back to where we made camp two nights ago, if that would make you feel better?"

Gendry seemed to relax, his shoulders releasing the tension he had held there. "Yes, actually," he exhaled. "That would make me feel better."

Arya threw her hands up in exasperation. "I wasn't being serious, Gendry!" She snarled.

"Well, I am," he said firmly, crossing his arms. "I won't be moved on this, Arya."

Arya scowled. "What, so you trust me to make the plans, but not to execute them?" The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Gendry looked as though he wanted to strangle her. He breathed out forcefully through his nostrils, as if he were really a bull. "I trust you to pass a good judgement on what you saw and the information you gathered. I trust that you can fight and kill and everything else you seem so hell bent on proving. But I do not want you near this fight, and that is because even though you don't need it, I want to protect you." As he finished, Gendry made to turn away.

Arya pursed her lips. "Well, what about Tom?" She asked loudly. "You care about him don't you? You would want to protect him? So why don't you send him into the woods with Jayce?" Gendry's face blackened and he span around, storm in his eyes.

"Tom isn't the one I plan on marrying!" He thundered, towering over her as he raged.

"Oh, well that's very nice now, isn't it?" Tom muttered to Anguy, who snorted, as they watched the other two fighting. The others had retreated a ways away, but Anguy and Tom had seen this fight too many times. Didn't the fools realize how loud they were when they argued?

"Well I'm not either!" Arya thundered back, her fists clenched and shaking by her sides, before she turned and stalked off, rubbing her eyes roughly with the back of her wrist to stop the tears from cascading down her throat.

* * *

Gendry watched her go as she disappeared into the trees before turning and hitting a tree, his eyes thrown into the shadow cast by his knitted together brows. Why could she never be reasonable? Just once? Gods, she challenged him at every turn! It just wasn't right for a lady to ride into battle when she didn't need to, and it wasn't as if she hadn't already done more than enough. Gendry clenched his massive fists, wishing that there was a battle right then so that he could kill someone.

For all that Arya argued she was, she wasn't- and never would be- a soldier. She had no idea how to follow orders. Every single line he laid down she obliterated without so much as a second thought. For a minute Gendry wanted to rush after her, grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she couldn't stand. He wondered if she had ever had any discipline as a child; from what Sansa and Jon had said her mother had tried her best to turn her into a lady, while her father was somewhat endeared, if exasperated, by her behavior. _Maybe Eddard Stark should have done us all a favour and put her over his knee years ago,_ he thought harshly, taking it back almost straight away. _Wouldn't have hurt to have given her a fright though._

Gods, it was like she had absolutely no regard for her own safety. The way she never even seemed to consider the danger she put herself in, or hesitate to partake in something of high risk. Gendry knew she wasn't some precious doll, but damn it all she was still human, and a sword or, the gods forbid, a stray arrow, would kill her just as easily as anyone else, a fact that she seemed utterly oblivious to.

He had thought he had finally gotten through to her before; he had seen something there, something in her eyes as he told her about his need to protect her. She had chosen him, she had allowed him to make his point, so why had she gone so against him again now? Gendry would never understand her, or why she was so stubborn. Jayce hadn't argued when Gendry had told him he was staying behind. No one else had, either. Only Arya, as always.

"Damn her," he muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling heavily. "Damn her to the deepest hell there is."

"Well, Gendry, either you can stand there cursing her name to the heavens," Tom sighed, "or you can go after her and make up. You don't want to leave things on that note before a battle."

"There's barely going to be a battle at all," he grumbled, turning to face his old friend.

"Aye, and that's half the problem," Tom said, shrugging. "She bloody well knows that."

Gendry sighed and grit his teeth together, wishing he had something more substantial to unleash his wrath on. "She's so bloody stubborn," he growled, picturing her defiant expression as she stood before him, arms crossed and brow pulled down.

"She ain't the only one, lad," his friend sighed. "Now go, go on. It won't be long before we leave, and you don't want your head all tossed up in the fight, nor her thinking... whatever she's thinking."

"Probably that she'd like to gut me," Gendry griped, pushing away from the tree.

Anguy snorted loudly. "Give her some credit, my friend," he said lightly. "She's got more finesse than a butcher. Go on, go kiss and make up, or whatever it is you two do." Gendry threw him an irritated look, before striding off in the direction Arya had disappeared in to.

Anguy turned to Tom with a smirk as he stood up. "They're bloody perfect for one another, them two."

Tom chuckled and scratched his beard. "Aye," he said. "That they are."

* * *

Arya cursed him as she walked, cursing his stupid name and his stupid face and his stupid talk and his stupid... stupid everything! Why was he so damned protective of her? She wondered as she fumed through the trees, praying that at that moment he might fall and smack his head, and somehow realise what an idiot he was. He had seen how she had managed to enter the raiders camp undetected and leave it perfectly safe! A small part of her knew that that wasn't completely fair, as Gendry didn't know the tricks she had to ensure her safety... but that wasn't the point!

Why was it always about how she needed to prove that he could trust her, and never the other way around? What had he done to prove that she could trust him? _Apart from saving your skin at the Twins_ , a snide voice in her head said, but she ignored it. All she would have even needed to do was climb onto a roof and hold a smoking branch in a hole. That was it! She wouldn't even have been in the thick of the action, like he would be.

It just wasn't fair. Arya was better than all of the men he was taking with him, yet she had to stay at camp like some disobedient child being left at home. She was so tired of this argument they were having, and twas all his fault too! Arya kicked a tree in frustration and yelled in frustration.

"Arya."

She ignored him, huffing out a breath loaded with irritation, aimed at him.

"Arya, will you please talk to me?" He asked, his voice only a few yards behind her. "I'm trying to be reasonable here."

Arya spat. "Reasonable? What part of this is reasonable?" She span around, surprised to see how close he had gotten to her. "It is you who is being the unreasonable one!" She hissed, jabbing him in the chest.

He grabbed her hand and held it tight when she tried to snatch it back. "Why is it so unreasonable for me to want to keep you safe?" He asked, ignoring her attempts to pull away. "Tell me, Arya, because truly I don't understand."

"Because- because- it just is!" Arya snapped, aware of how childish she sounded. "You always talk about how you trust me, but the instant I want to do something you tell me you don't! So which is it?"

Gendry sighed and let his hand drop, without releasing hers. "I do trust you, alright? I trust you more than anyone else- Lem, Davos, hells, even Jon! You mean everything to me, Arya, and I won't lose you ambushing some stupid raiders!" He cursed under his breath. "Arya, what you need to understand is that my desire to protect you isn't for you- it's for me. For my peace of mind." He let go of her hand and moved them to her face, his fingers covering her ears slightly. Arya wasn't sure if she wanted to snatch away from them and curse him, or lean into them and sigh.

"Can you understand that?" He asked her, staring at her piercingly. When Arya made no reply he sighed. "Imagine it's Jon," he said. "You know full and well that he can protect himself better than most- but would you want him to be in danger if it wasn't necessary?"

Arya bit her lip. Of course she would never willingly put Jon in danger. "It's different," she insisted, though now she was not so sure. When Gendry began to pull away slightly, clearly having seen it in her face that she was lying, she hastened to explain. "Then would it be unreasonable for me to ask you not to fight?" She asked.

Gendry scoffed. "Of course it would be," he said. "They're my men. I can't send them off and not go myself."

"Well then you can't expect me to stay behind and do nothing either," Arya said, irritated by his double standard answer. "You can't just- you can't just expect me to sit back and do nothing. It's not in my nature; if you wanted a wife who will do what she is supposed to, and sit back while you have all the fun, then you should have asked for Sansa's hand, not mine!" When Arya was finished she found that she was out of breath from her outburst.

"Gendry, I'm tired of having this same argument, over and over again," she said, exhaling slowly as he glared at her from behind crossed arms.

"What, and you think I'm not?" He snapped, before sighing, and leaning against a tree, staring at her. Arya pursed her lips, but didn't back down. "I don't understand, Arya. I really don't. This need to- to prove yourself. Why?" He asked her, pushing away from the trunk and putting is hands on her slim shoulders, looking into her face.

Arya bit her lip. "I don't have a need to prove myself," she snapped. "You know what I am capable of, I-"

"But that's just it!" He snapped back, pushing her back against the tree he had just been leaning against. "I don't know what you're capable of, because you refuse to tell me!"

"That's because you don't need to know!"

"The hells I don't!"

The two glared at each other, Gendry's eyes as cold as ice, boring into hers which flamed with burning fire. In the back of her mind Arya was aware of their role reversal, and that it was strange to see Gendry like ice for once, instead of heat.

"You can't force me to stay behind with Jayce and the horses," Arya finally said, her tone firm.

Gendry pursed his lips. "As your lord I can command you." He stepped closer, and Arya could feel the heat radiating off of him.

She licked her lips before replying, trying not to notice the way his eyes lingered on her lips. "As your..." Arya hesitated, "trusted companion, I don't have to obey you." His eyes creased at her nominative, and she bit her lip. "And as a person who cares very deeply about you, you should not ask me to." She whispered the last part, her words falling past her lips like a sigh.

Gendry swallowed. "I'm not asking you to obey me, Arya," he said, a hint of irritation tinging his tone. "I'm asking you to do this for me. Hell's, I know you're better than any of us, but the idea of you being hurt- be it by an arrow, or a burning timber- Arya, please, just do this one thing for me. So that I don't have to worry." His voice was slightly harder again at the end, and Arya sighed.

She nodded once, curtly, and Gendry exhaled, before wrapping his strong arms around her torso. She felt him press his lips against her hair, inhaling her scent as he pressed her against his muscled chest. "Thank you," she heard him whisper into her hair. For a moment, Arya almost felt bad about lying to him.

Almost.

* * *

Gendry surveyed the burnt village before him, his eyes sweeping from left to right. In the darkness all he could see were shadows of crumbling walls and a few flickering lights coming from the barn that Arya had described. Gendry peered over his shoulder, signalling the men behind him. They began to creep forwards, closer to the treeline, hiding away from the light of the moon.

Gendry felt a pang of relief as he nodded for the first group to make their way forwards, watching as they ran to the first building and crouched behind the broken walls, glad that Arya had returned to the Wendwater crossing with Jayce. He watched carefully; the guard stood exactly where she had said he'd be, at the far side of the pen. He could see the silhouettes of the villagers there, huddled together against the cold. He nodded to Jack, who returned the sentiment before darting out swiftly, half crouched over.

As he reached the nearest building, Gendry raised two fingers behind him and flicked them, signalling for them to move forwards, archers at the front. In groups of five they moved hastily to their positions, most behind the different walls of the burned houses, some crouched behind barrels or hay carts, anything substantial enough to hide them from view. Gendry peered around the corner, looking for Jack to make his move on the guard... but he couldn't see him. Gendry's brows knitted together; where was he?

The guard was still stood, exactly as he had been moments prior, at the corner of the pen. Gendry pursed his lips, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. Just as he was about to ask if anyone had seen Jack, Gendry saw him, moving carefully towards the guard. Gendry waited with bated breath; if the guard made a noise the game was up.

Jack crept closer and closer, and Gendry saw him reach for his knife. Gendry swallowed, raising himself a little higher up to see better. Lem uttered an oath beside him. Jack was only yards away now, but the guard still hadn't moved. Gendry felt his heartbeat quicken; thinking about it, the guard had yet to move at all. Gendry could have sworn he had been stood exactly the same, when they first arrived.

He looked at Anguy, the next wall over. Something wasn't right, it was too... quiet. Gendry felt his eyes widen. The make shift tavern was all but silent. He waved at Anguy, who peered over, and even in the dim moonlight Gendry could see confusion written across the archers face. At Gendry's look, Anguy notched an arrow, aiming it around the corner, ready to fire. Something was off, Gendry was sure- the raiders couldn't have just disappeared, the villagers were still there, but Gendry couldn't hear any laughter or talking coming from the target building.

He clenched his jaw, and returned his focus to Jack, who seemed to be hesitating. Gendry nodded at him, and Jack stood up from his crouch and dashed at the guard, his knife raised. Gendry waited for the guard to react, to struggle, but there was nothing. Jack pressed his knife to the man's throat, but there was... nothing. He watched as his friend faltered, and moved away, before crouching and signalling at Gendry.

"What's wrong?" Lem asked, nudging him. Gendry shook his head, and, checking the door of the tavern, made a dash across the short space between his cottage and Jack, running half bent over, his blood pounding in his ears.

"What's going on?" He hissed, as he reached Jack.

"See for yourself, Lord," Jack said, his face perplexed and horrified all in one. Gendry grit his teeth, looking over his shoulder at Anguy. He angled his sword so that the moonlight flashed on the blade, the signal for the archers to move forwards. There was no time to go through each of the intricate steps Arya had detailed in her plan. For a split second, Gendry wished that she was here; she would know what to do. Somehow she always seemed to know exactly what was going on, her observational skills second to none. She would probably already have an explanation for the strange guard and the silence surrounding the barn. Gendry dismissed the thought; with everything going as wrong as it seemed it was lucky that she wasn't here- there was no way she would have listened to orders, she would have already been on the roof by now. Gendry shook his head minutely, pushing her from his head; he needed a clear mind.

Clenching his fingers around the hilt of his sword, Gendry moved smoothly towards the silhouette. His footsteps made little noise, but he couldn't help but think that Arya would have been completely silent. It was disconcerting how stealthy she was. With bated breath,Gendry made his way towards the figure, ready to slip his sword between his shoulder blades, or his knife under the ear- yet the guard hadn't moved. He looked back at Jack, who nodded.

Eyebrows creased, Gendry moved to the front of the guard, waiting for him to react with a shout... but there was nothing, just as when Jack had approached him the first time. Then Gendry saw why.

The man was dead.

A stake had been pushed through the top of his neck, just above the space between his shoulder blades, the sharp point driven into the ground between his legs. Blood stained the front of his armour, and Gendry could still see it ebbing out slowly from his sliced neck. His eyes were open but unseeing, glassy and cold, reflecting the moonlight, and Gendry could see himself in them. A shiver ran down his spine as he took it in, the corpse that had been forced into a standing position. What was going on? Gendry exhaled shakily; he had never seen something so chilling.

He looked back at Anguy, and then, inhaling deeply, started towards the barn door. He could hear Jack hissing his name, before cursing, the sound of light footsteps falling lightly behind his. Gendry kept as low as he could, though he knew before he got there that he wasn't going to be attacked. The whole thing had to be a rouse, Arya had been right- they must be hidden in the trees or something, ready to ambush. A chill ran down his back- he had only brought the men needed for Arya's plan.

As he neared the door, Gendry could see something across the width of it. His eyebrows creased- a metal rod, some kind of crowing bar, was slotted across, as well as a few wooden planks, each with one end on the ground so that they formed a large X across the doorway. Gendry cursed inside his head, wondering how they could have fucked up o spectacularly as they had... until he remembered.

Arya had said the door opened outwards.

The door wasn't locking him out; it was locking them in.

Perhaps Bronze Gate patrolmen had already been by? But then, why were the villagers still huddled in the pen, watching him with fearful eyes? Gendry looked over his shoulder at Jack, who shook his head in question.

Gendry steeled his nerve- he had to know what was happening. He slid the bar from the door, and wrenched the others aside. Once it was clear, he signalled for the archers to move closer. Waiting until he heard the sound of arrows knocking on wood as the archers prepared, Gendry raised the latch, and pulled the door open, his sword raised up high, the point facing inwards.

In retrospect, Gendry did not know what he had expected. He had expected to find either a room full of raiders, waiting for him, or an empty barn. Even just a couple of watchmen. What he had not expected was a room filled with corpses. Dead bodies littered the room, some on the floor, others slumped at their tables. The room stank of blood and pus and ooze. It was not what he had thought to find.

But what surprised him most was not the scores of corpses, or the lack of movement, or the horrific smell. What he had least expected to find was sat in the middle of the room.

"Arya?"

Arya sat in a chair, her feet kicked up on a table dangerously close to a dead mans pool of blood and vomit, while she leaned back in the chair, cleaning her knife with a cloth that appeared to have been pulled roughly from a person's neck.

Arya tilted her head. "Gendry," she greeted him. He felt rather than heard Jack move up beside him, and gag at the grisly sight before him. "You're late."

Gendry could feel every nerve, every vein, every pore in his body thrumming with fury as Arya kicked her feet off the table, stowing her knife in her belt. He lowered his sword unconsciously, exhaling shakily with barely contained rage.

He had asked her to stay behind. She had agreed, nay, promised him, that she would. That she would stay safe. Yet here she was, sat among the corpses like the Stranger, radiating smugness. Gendry didn't understand; he had seen her ride back with Jayce, watched her as she went.

Without thinking, Gendry sheathed his sword and strode across the room, uncaring that Jack and the others, who had arrived silently, were watching. He reached for Arya and yanked her roughly from her chair by her shirt, ignoring her huff of indignation. With a snarl he wrenched her closer, pulling her face up towards his as he growled.

"Talk," he commanded, unable to express his anger with words. "Talk now, Arya, else I will not be able to stop myself from doing something you won't like." He shook her as he spoke, balling up the fist of her shirt in his hand.

Arya pursed her lips, and Gendry felt a vein in his forehead throb as he recognised her expression. She was irritated. _She_ was irritated. "Gendry, calm down will you?" She said, trying to step away, but entirely forgetting the body behind her. Gendry used the opportunity to yank her closer, lifting her onto her tiptoes. His feet were planted square on the ground as he snarled down at her, yet Arya seemed more amused than afraid. "Don't be stupid, G-"

"STUPID?" He shouted, unable to contain his anger any longer. Her hands clutched at his as he lifted her square off the ground and swung her around, pressing her back roughly onto the only clear space of the table top. She gasped as he slammed her down, leaning over her, his lips pulled back over his teeth. "Arya, I swear to the whatever fucking Gods there are, if you don't start talking, I don't care who's watching, I will knock you out and send you tied up in a god damn cart to Storms End, do you understand?" Arya snarled at him, and he slammed her back into the table surface, fuming. " _Do you understand?!"_

He watched as Arya seemed to war with herself, before she bit her lips. "You weren't going to let me come," she started. This, she would later reflect, was the worst thing she could have said.

"This is exactly why I didn't want you to come!" He shouted, feeling his rage boil over. He wanted to bend her over the fucking table, teach her a lesson once and for all- she couldn't keep doing this! He wouldn't have it! "You directly disobeyed me!" He yelled, watching as her hair fluttered from the force. He heard as the others backed out of the room. "I don't even know what to say, this time Arya- what is this?"

"If you stop trying to break the table with my back then I'll bloody well tell you," Arya snapped, trying to squirm out of his hold. Gendry caught her hands and pressed them into the table on either side of her head. Glaring at him, Arya conceded that it was better to let him take out his anger now than have him give her the cold shoulder for the rest of the way to Storms End. "I knew that you wouldn't listen, and that you wouldn't be prepared- don't look at me like that, you weren't and you know it too, or else this wouldn't have taken you by surprise!"

"Surprise?" Gendry asked, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Surprised? Hells, Arya, I think I moved past surprised the second I opened the door!"

Arya refrained from rolling her eyes. "Gendry, if you'd let me up I'd explain it to you. I'm not saying anything until you do." Arya raised her eyebrows ever so slightly in challenge, and waited while he glared at her. After hesitating for a few seconds, he slowly relaxed his grip on her wrists before letting go. Arya pushed herself up, wincing.

"It was simple," she said casually. "I waited until you had gone and then convinced Jayce that this," she pulled a knife from her belt and passed it to him, "was yours, and that I would need to give it back to you before you attacked. Told him to go ahead and I'd catch up." She shrugged. "He's probably still wondering where I am. Poor boy, he'll need to be a bit quicker on the uptake in future."

"Arya," Gendry growled.

Arya sighed. "I gave you false directions so that you would go the long way, took a shortcut, sneaked into camp again, dumped poison in the outside ale keg, waited for dark, killed the guard and locked the door. Most of them died from the poison, and I slit the throats of those who didn't. It was over before you even got here." She shrugged. "Was that brief enough for you?"

Gendry didn't react. Arya bit the inside of her lip, wondering if she had actually pushed him too far this time, if maybe she should have just left it. She tried not to fidget as she waited, waited for him to shout, swear and storm out.

And then suddenly his lips were crashing down on hers, one hand on her neck and the other on the small of her back, pushing her closer to him as he consumed her. Arya's eyes flew open in shock as he kissed her, aggressively, angrily, passionately. After a moment she responded, melting against him, her hands braced against his collarbones. He pushed forwards roughly so that he was stood between her knees as she sat on the table, leaning down over her. Arya tilted her face up to meet his, but then he was gone, or at least, his mouth was.

He broke away, breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against hers as he held her to him. Arya bit her lip, and his eyes drifted to the movement. Arya watched him as he moved his thumb to her lip and pulled it away from her teeth, lingering on her mouth afterwards.

"I should be angry at you right now," he said lowly, his voice husky. It sent shivers down her spine. "I should be shouting at you, telling you that I can't stand to look at you."

"Then why aren't you?" Arya asked, surprised to find her own voice rough as well. She swallowed.

Gendry watched the way her throat contracted tightly before answering. "Because... I'm just relived that you're alright. That you're safe." He closed his eyes for a second, eyelashes fluttering lightly against her skin, before pulling away and straightening up. His face hardened slightly as he towered over her. "I don't understand how you did it, and while I hope you'll tell me in time, I know that you won't." Arya bit her lip again, and he gazed at her, his eyes softening involuntarily. "Just... I care about you, Arya. I know you don't want to hear it," he added hastily, pushing her back down as she stood to get up, "but I do. I care about you more than I have ever cared about anyone before. And it frightens me when you do things like this, because I don't want anything to happen to you. Do you understand that, Arya?" His gaze was so intense, so heated, that Arya opened her mouth and no words came out.

"I... thinks so," she mumbled, surprising even herself. She never mumbled. "I suppose I haven't really thought of it like that before. It doesn't frighten me, but I never really considered how others saw it." And she hadn't, or at least, only so far as what they thought of her abilities, her reputation.

Arya looked around her at the room. She imagined that to anyone else it was a a scene of chaos and horror... but to her it was nothing. The carcasses meant as much to her as the walls did, or the tables. _I know death_ , she thought numbly, _and death knows me. Death and I are old friends._ No wonder Dick had run out to be sick.

"Are you ever going to tell me the truth of how you did this?" Gendry asked quietly.

Arya smiled wryly. Of course he knew her well enough to ask. "Not tonight, Gendry." She leaned her forehead against his chest, and inhaled his scent as he wrapped his arms around her. "Not tonight."

* * *

 **Ok, I know that chapter was shorter than usual, but I figured it was better to bang out a couple of shorter ones than one long one! I really, really am sorry about how long its taking me to update at the moment, I've just been so busy lately and things keep getting in the way. On another note I realized that this story has been published for a year now! That's fun! Anyway, reviews are much appreciated, thanks for bearing with me, and I hope you enjoyed the latest drama of this chapter! Over and Out! xox**


	36. The Final Stretch

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine :)**

 **Ok, so I'll admit that it has been a long time... too long! I do apologise for keeping you all waiting, I just never seem to find the time to write. I have to admit that I considered giving up on this story, as I have so many other things I want to write too- but I am determined that this story will get the ending it deserves, after three years of writing it (however long that might take...!). And so, without further waffle, I hand you over to this new chapter. Over and Out xox**

 **RECAP:** **Gendry and Arya make up, but not for very long, as when they are making a plan to attack the raiders Gendry doesn't want Arya to be part of it. Arya gets angry, so does Gendry, they fight (again! It's a very rocky road through the Kingswood...) they make up. Arya sneaks off again anyway. She wants to be the one to send Euron a message back. Gendry does not realise she is missing and so takes his men to the burning village. The plan goes awry when they find the guard dead and strung up to appear as if he's alive. Gendry realises that there is no noise coming from the make shift tavern. He goes in, already suspicious, and finds Arya there, easy as can be, surrounded by a room of fresh corpses. They fight again, but then Gendry realises that her danger is one of the things he loves about her, and so forgives her for being reckless, which in turn makes Arya forgive him for being a controlling ass. Gendry asks how she did it, and she tells him that she will tell him one day.**

* * *

Arya had never really bothered to pay attention to time. The time of day, of course, but as days bled into weeks and weeks bled into months, Arya found that she had little care. Autumn became winter, winter fell to spring, and spring gave way to summer, before everything was back to the beginning. What point was there in keeping track?

Yet, Arya found it strange to think on how much had changed sine Jon found her that night at Craster's Keep. How long had it been since then? Half a year? Just under? Two weeks travelling from the Wall to Winterfell, a month or two there. The journey to the Stormlands. If Arya had been in a different place, or had her hood not fallen, had they had just a five second delay, had Jon not killed her wildling friend- Arya would still be there, sharpening her sword in the moonlight alone, unable to sleep, planning the next attack. For the first time in months, Arya's thoughts turned to the Wildlings.

Perhaps they had been wrong. They had been sent back only after their lawlessness, their disregard for rules. Not that Arya cared about rules. She thought about Grisser and frowned; she wondered if the horses arse was even still alive, waiting. She wondered again exactly what had happened after he knocked her out; she hadn't cared enough to ask at the time. She didn't really care now either.

She shook her head slightly; no point thinking on it until she had the facts. It was early morning, the sky still slightly dark. The camp had made rest at the bottom of a hill the night before, and she was supposed to be helping ready the camp to move off, and spread the word that they would be at Storms End by nightfall, gods be willing. Their progress had been slowed down a little with the prisoners from Bronzegate. They seemed wary, ready to run. Some of them had chosen to go to their liege lord, but Arya suspected they would find little help there; if their lord hadn't helped them already, he wouldn't now. Gendry had offered the others jobs at Storms End as servants if they wished, or placements on farms. He had offered a placement to Faye, the girl Arya had rescued, as one of Arya's maids. He had not consulted Arya first.

"I honestly don't see the problem, Arya," he had sighed when she confronted him about it, storming up to him and standing before him, snarling. "All ladies have maids, and you'll need one while you help me run the kingdom. Besides, she has nowhere else to go."

Arya had narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't need a maid poking her nose in my business, sneaking around my chamber!" For a split second, Arya had been relieved that she had left her faces at Winterfell; she didn't suppose Faye was the kind of girl to take to finding them well. Not that Arya would have left them anywhere where they could have been found. "Give her a different job!"

Gendry had crossed his arms as he looked down at her. "No," he said resolutely, a tone brokering no argument. When Arya's eyes had flashed he had sighed, and put a hand on her shoulder. "She won't be sneaking or poking. Just let her be, Arya."

Arya had eventually conceded; she supposed she wouldn't hide anything important in her chambers anyway. Since then she had spoken to Faye a couple of times, and found the girl sweet. She was shy, and had a habit of ducking her head when spoken to so that her blond hair hung in her face, but she seemed kind enough.

Arya caught sight of Jayce, curled up under his furs, and smirked to herself. She had seen him looking at Faye once or twice. She shook her head; foolish boy. He was just a boy... though she supposed that Faye was around his age. The thought made her scowl; even Faye, shy, quiet Faye, was taller than her. It simply wasn't fair.

"What are you scowling about?"

Arya looked up, and the scowl dropped from her face as she saw him, falling in to stride beside her. "I'm not," she said. "Just thinking."

Gendry smiled lightly, and squinted up at the sun. "What about?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Just... that life isn't fair." He raised his brow and she sighed. "It doesn't matter. When do we leave?" She asked as they made a turn. She stopped and waited as Gendry offered to help a man load a barrel onto a wagon, and grumbled inwardly again at how unfair it was being small. That barrel probably weighed her weight and half again.

Gendry turned back to her and they set off again, as he wiped his hands on his breeches. "An hour, no more than two. But, you and I have somewhere to be now, so come on." He held out his hand to her, but Arya just watched him suspiciously.

"Why? Where are we going?" She asked, making no move to take his hand.

Gendry smiled slightly. "Don't you trust me, milady?"

Arya narrowed her eyes at him, her temper hissing at the title. She crossed her arms. "Yes, I do," she said simply, watching his face carefully.

"Then there is something I want to show you," he shrugged casually, but Arya could tell that he was excited about something. "So take my bloody hand and let's go before it's time to leave."

Arya hesitated slightly, wondering if it was some trick, and he flexed his hand slightly, giving her an encouraging look. Arya reluctantly reached out and placed her hand in his much larger one, and he smiled before abruptly turning and moving off, pulling her gently in tow.

As they passed through a small crop of trees, the ground ascending slightly as they went, Arya felt her cheeks warm; his hand brushed accidentally against her thigh as they moved- he only grazed her with his knuckles, but it was enough to spread a heat in her stomach, and she suddenly became very aware of the feel of her hand in his, the way his fingers overlapped around her palm and hers wrapped a little around his large thumb, his rough callouses hot against her smoother, softer skin.

Arya bit her lip as they continued up the steep, grassy hill, the trees more sparse now. The sky was tinged slightly orange now, and Arya could tell the sun would soon be risen. As the hill grew steeper Arya struggled to keep up with Gendry's much longer strides, and soon found herself falling slightly behind, until his arm was stretched ever so slightly behind, still clasping her hand tightly.

He looked back over his shoulder. "Everything alright, milady?" He asked, a teasing lilt tinging his question with amusement, further causing Arya to blush.

She nodded once. "I'm fine," she lied, trying to lengthen her stride to keep up with his. She grumbled inwardly again at her inconvenient size. This would not be a problem if she were as tall as Sansa!

Gendry contained a smile, his lips tugging upwards at the corner. "Are you sure? You seem a little flushed?" Arya narrowed her eyes- the bastard knew exactly what the problem was, he just wanted her to admit it first and ask him to slow down.

She cocked her head. "I'm just a little warm is all," she said lightly, willing herself to go faster. She would show him, the smug, arrogant horse's arse.

"Really, you seem a little out of breath too," he asked, goading her. Arya grit her teeth. Gendry smiled innocently. "Perhaps you're finding the pace a little fast, I can always slow down a little if you'd prefer?"

Arya nearly punched him. "The pace is fine, thank you," she answered tightly, refusing to give him the satisfaction by admitting it. When he opened his mouth to goad her again Arya added hastily "I could beat you any time, if I wished."

"Oh?" Gendry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. Amusement danced in the depths of his eyes, and Arya immediately regretted challenging him. "Then why not up the pace a little?"

Arya pursed her lips. "Fine."

Gendry smiled and nodded, before suddenly ploughing ahead, almost doubling the lengths of his strides. Arya grit her teeth and pushed on wards, refusing to run to keep up. In response Gendry moved even faster, so that Arya had to jog every couple of strides, or else fall over as he dragged her along.

Then Gendry looked down at her, and their eyes met. There was a split second and suddenly they were running, their footsteps thundering on the grassy bank as they raced, wind whistling over their heads. Gendry kept a tight hold of her hand as they ran, and Arya willed herself to go faster, faster, pushing herself forwards as fast as she could, filling her lungs with salty air-

-salty?!

Arya stopped suddenly, forgetting momentarily that Gendry still had a tight grip on her hand. She was jerked forwards suddenly when he didn't stop, and crashed straight into him, taking him by surprise. Arya gasped suddenly as they were sent flying to the ground, hands still connected as they smacked downwards. Her body flew forward roughly, rolling over his as they span. When they finally stopped Gendry was on his back, his legs entangled with Arya, as she lay half on top of him.

"Arya?" He asked, wincing as he jerked his legs, to disentangle them. "What in seven hells-"

Arya looked down at his face as she pushed herself up, her hand braced against his chest and found herself unable to hold back a bubble of laughter at his confused expression. Gendry sent her a highly undignified look, and then she was laughing harder, and soon his deeper tones added to hers. Arya rolled off of him so that she was on her back beside him, belly heaving as she sucked in deep lungfuls of air to calm herself.

When they had both regained their composure Arya turned her face to look at him, only to find that he was already watching her, the smile gone and replaced by a heated expression. "What?" She asked defensively.

His mouth twitched. "I was just thinking that I wished you laughed like that more," he admitted. "It was nice to hear." Arya blinked, and made to sit up, but he rolled over and pushed her gently back down, one hand moving to smooth hair away from her face. He watched her, taking in her pink cheeks and warm skin, the way her lips were parted ever so slightly, and then he was kissing her, gently at first and then more urgently.

Arya reached up to run her fingers through his black locks, which had grown out even more, along with black stubble on his jaw which he usually kept shaved. He groaned against her as he did so and the sound went straight to Arya's abdomen. He moved to cover her better, slinging one leg over to lie between her knees, his tongue darting out to battle hers for dominance. Arya gasped as he nibbled her lower lip, tugging it between his teeth as she often did, and he moaned again at the sound. She pushed back for dominance, but he caught her hair in his hand and pulled, causing her head to bump the ground. The impact made her mouth open in a gasp, and he used the opportunity to attack, plundering her mouth with his.

Unable to battle for dominance as she was, Arya twisted one leg up so that it lay across his hips and then pushed up, effectively rolling him onto his back so that she ended up on top, straddling his waist. Gendry groaned as she did, and Arya took the split moment to pull away from his lips and move to his jaw, remembering the way he had done it with her once before. His hands slid down her body and came to a rest, one holding her hip and the other her waist. When he attempted to pull her back down closer in order to roll her over again, Arya reacted instinctively and nipped sharply at his throat with her teeth, leaving a little red mark.

Gendry swore under his breath before sitting up suddenly, bringing his knees up too so that Arya sat astride him between his thighs and his front, her hands still braced against his shoulders. He pressed his lips against hers again firmly, then once more, before pulling away. Arya sat back on his hips, using the front of his thighs against her back to steady her.

She blushed when his hand went to his throat, his fingers brushing the mark she had left. He turned his eyes back to hers and they were filled with heat. "I see you really are a wolf," he chuckled, reaching up to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. She sighed shakily as his hand trailed from her ear to her jaw and then lower, to the tendon at the side of her neck. His eyes fixated on that spot, and a smirk formed on his lips.

"What are you-" she began, but he covered her lips with his quickly, effectively silencing her.

He pulled away a scarce millimetre, so that when he spoke his lips brushed against hers ever so slightly. "You left a mark on me," he said lowly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "It's only fair, sweetheart."

And with that he plunged down, his mouth latching onto the spot he had just been caressing with his thumb. Arya gasped as he nipped the skin sharply and sucked, throwing her head back without thought, further exposing the creamy skin of her throat to him. Gendry chuckled and pulled away, before pecking her lips once more.

"There," he said with a smile, as he leaned back on his hands. "Now we're even."

Arya narrowed her eyes and unsheathed a dagger from her belt. Gendry raised a brow, but she only raised it up and peered at her reflection in the blade. She hissed. "Gendry!" She slapped his chest roughly and he chuckled. "You ass, that's far bigger than what I did!" The mark was the size of a copper star, red with a thin mark in the centre where he had nipped her. "How the fuck am I supposed to stop people from seeing this?"

Gendry shrugged, smug. "Don't," he said.

Arya sighed and sheathed her dagger, ignoring the sight of her swollen lips in the reflection. Though she didn't show it, a small part of her was a little pleased- if not a little proud- to see that Gendry looked almost as ravished as her. "Was this the real reason you dragged me all the way up this hill then?" She asked, one brow raised.

Gendry snorted. "No, but it can be," he said, picking up her hand and kidding her knuckle. He sighed. "Anyway, I thought you said you were fine with the pace?" He smirked as she flushed. "What, are my legs simply too long for you?"

Arya huffed and snatched her hand back. "I already said that life wasn't fair," she snipped, crossing her arms.

He smiled again, and Arya saw something cross his face. "Well, if we're going to actually see what I wanted to show you, I can think of another way."

Arya narrowed her eyes, dubious of his words. "What do y-"

He stood up suddenly, heaving her over his shoulder as he ascended. Arya gasped as she was tossed over his broad shoulder, the air escaping her lungs and leaving her in a sharp exhale. "Gendry!" She snapped, hitting at his broad back, though not maliciously. "You oaf, put me down!"

He turned around so that she swung violently to the side, forcing her to clutch at his shoulder to keep her balance. He snaked an arm around the back of her thigh halfway up, his fingers curling around in a loose but firm grip. "Why?" He chuckled. "This way I won't have to wait for you're little legs and we can get there in better time."

Arya kneed him in the chest, making him huff in reflex. "You bloody ass," she snapped, "I'm faster than you at any other time, you-" she was cut off suddenly as he shifted her weight, adjusting her on his shoulder.

"Oh hush, we'll be at the top in a minute and I'll let you down," he teased. Arya rolled her eyes and stopped fidgeting, knowing full well that he wouldn't be putting her down until he was good and ready to do so. She propped her elbows on his back and leaned her chin in her hands, trying to ignore the feel of him beneath her as she swayed. She sighed and supposed at least she wasn't in any danger of toppling off; his shoulder was near as wide as her hips, and with his huge arm wrapped around her the only way she'd be falling off would be if he cut his arm off at the shoulder.

"You know, most ladies would be grateful for their lord to carry them up a hill," he jibed, pinching her thigh in jest.

Arya snorted. "Most lords wouldn't heave them over their shoulders like a sack of grain," she replied. "Besides, I keep telling you, I'm not a lady."

Although she couldn't see from her position, Gendry frowned slightly. "Hardly," he said, contracting his arm a little."There's nothing of you to heave in the first place. No wonder it was so easy for Clegane to steal you away that night."

Arya was oblivious to his concern. "Yes well," she said flippantly, "I've learnt a few tricks since then."

Gendry snorted. "I'd be very interested to see that, seeing as you've yet to make your grand escape."

"I don't need to. I could just slit your throat."

Gendry snorted again. "What with?"

"This." Suddenly Gendry felt a sharp sting as she pressed the edge of a blade against his throat from behind. She smirked. "You should pay more attention to your weapons, milord." Gendry looked down at his belt to find not one, but two knives missing.

"Minx," he snorted, before coming to an abrupt stop and sliding her down until she was firmly on her feet again. He smiled down at her, his hands still lightly on her hips. She cocked her head, and offered back the knives with a small smirk.

"What was it that made you fall so suddenly earlier?" He asked, as he took the knives from her.

Arya blinked. "I smelled the salt from the sea on the breeze. It just took me by surprise." That and it reminded her very suddenly of Braavos.

He chuckled. "Maybe if you turned around you'd see why?"

Arya raised a brow and turned around, standing just in front of him. She inhaled a short, sharp breath of salty air.

They were stood at the top of the tallest hill she could see, right at the brow, and in front of her was a clear, uninterrupted view of the Stormlands; hills of sun bleached grasses, dark green valleys, vast woodlands and stretching farmland. The sky had turned a magnificent array of pinks and oranges and soft blues, the orange sun just visible on the sea horizon. The waters between the bay and Tarth were a perfect blue, deep and shining, and then beyond the island the narrow sea that lead to the land where Arya had spent years of her life running. She knew that on a clear day, bright with no clouds or fog, one would be able to see Braavos and the other Free Cities.

But, more impressive than even that, was the sight of the fortress raised by the ancient Storm Kings, almost as old as her ancestors. Against the sea and sky the castle, even in the far distance, looked immense, with walls built with a creamy coloured stone, strong and thick and tall, with towers that had smoothed, curved edges to weather to terrible storms for which the bay got it's name. With her sharp sight Arya could see even the outer walls and the huge wooden gates.

Suddenly Arya became aware of Gendry's hands on her shoulders, and found the weight of them reassuring, his chest hovering mere inches away from her back. "What do you think?" He asked quietly, his voice sounding from near two feet above her.

"It's..." Arya didn't know what to say. She knew he had wanted to show her his home, his first real home. She knew he wanted to hear her say that she loved it, that it was beautiful. But looking at it, all Arya felt was fear. This was the place where he hoped she would spend the rest of her life, where Jon and Sansa and everyone expected her to live and raise their children. Looking at the now imposing castle, Arya felt trapped. She turned and looked at him, not wanting to upset him when he was so very happy. "It's wonderful, Gendry."

He smiled at her words. "You truly like it?" He asked. "I know you don't like the south, or the heat, and I know you love the North, but you'll be happy here once you are used to it." His smile faltered slightly. "I wanted you to see it before anyone else did. Our home," he smiled again, before leaning down to kiss her once more, more softly, slowly and gently.

Arya kissed him back, not wanting to ruin his happiness by telling him that all she wanted to do was run.

But where to?

After a minute Arya pulled away gently, her hands pressed lightly on his chest. "Come on," she said with a cheeky grin. "I'll race you down the hill!" She pecked him quickly on the lips and then span away, and flew off down the hill, allowing herself to focus on the ground beneath her feet rather than their destination.

She could hear Gendry running steadily behind her all the way back down, and wondered if she should stop and run beside him, but she didn't know if she could look into his face, not after the morning they had spent together, not after he had seen her at the village, surrounded by death, and accepted her, not after everything. Because no matter how much she cared for him, Arya knew deep down that she was still afraid to settle down with him.

When they finally came to the bottom of the hill Arya slowed, only for Gendry to grab her from behind, sending them tumbling downwards, with her tucked against him as they rolled down the slope. Arya sat up as soon as they stopped, her stomach rolling.

"Got you," he teased, sitting up beside her.

Arya smiled. "Aye, you did." She stuck her tongue out. "I still won though!"

Gendry chuckled and kissed her on the forehead. "We'd best go back," he sighed reluctantly as he pulled away. "Else they'll leave without us." He stood up, and Arya allowed him to pull her up.

"You know they'd never leave without you," she teased, rolling her eyes. "They're as loyal to you as the Northerners are to Jon and Sansa."

He looked down at her. "Not you?" He frowned.

Arya shrugged. "They don't know me. Just that I'm Ned's girl." The smile dropped from her face slightly and he frowned.

"Arya?" He asked. "Are you alright?"

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him softly. When he pulled away his eyes were flooded with warmth, and she felt even more guilty. "Thank you," she said gently. "For showing me." Gendry smiled and took her hand as they walked back to camp, where people were beginning to stir, oblivious to Arya's inner turmoil.

* * *

Gendry couldn't stop the smile from slowly unravelling on his face as he watched her riding in front of him, unaware of his attentions. Her long, thick hair was tied in a messy braid, the end tickling the small of her back, her hips swaying in the saddle. He raised his fingers to his neck, and touched the thin mark where she had nipped him.

Gendry had struggled to hold back when she did that; he had been about to roll her back over to pin her down and show her who was in charge, but it had been clear, in the end, that it was not him. The second she had swooped down and assaulted his throat Gendry had wanted to turn her back over and... well. But he hadn't. She deserved more than that, than a quick fuck on the ground. No, their first time would be worthy of her, on a feather bed like in the song, and he would take time to show her what he could give her.

But still, he had been close to forgetting that.

He had forced himself to sit up then, to stop himself from going too far, but it had been a near thing. Flashes played through his mind, and Gendry bit his tongue to stop himself from groaning out loud. Her creamy throat, the little noise she had made, her fingers in his hair, on his chest, her sharp teeth. Gendry smiled.

"Isn't it 'sposed to be you in the front?"

Gendry didn't bother turning. Anguy's Dornish accent was enough to alert anyone to his presence and certainly enough to rip Gendry out of his daydream. "Why would I be, when the view from here is so much more enjoyable?" He asked, not bothering to tear his gaze away from Arya. She shifted in the saddle then, her hips rolling. Gendry groaned, and then flushed immediately.

"Still a little warm after your little tryst, are you?" The archer asked languidly. Gendry frowned, and the older man laughed. "I saw you drag her off up that hill. I thought you'd be showing her the sights, but from the mark on your neck the little she wolf's bite is as big as her bark."

Gendry pursed his lips. "It's not what you're thinking," he sighed. "I wouldn't do that to her."

"From that monstrosity you left on her I'd wager you'd rather like to though," Anguy teased, nudging him. When Gendry scowled he sighed. "Look, lad, if she was willing to let you leave a mark on her like that-"

"She wasn't," Gendry thought, smiling as he remembered her suspicion.

Anguy rolled his eyes. "If she's willing to let you live after leaving that mark on her, then she probably wouldn't mind if you did show her what else you could give her." He raised his brows, and Gendry sighed, blowing out a deep breath that made his hair flutter against his forehead. He really did need to cut it.

"Arya isn't like that," he said warily. "No matter what she says, she is a lady, and she doesn't deserve to be taken on the ground less than a league from a camp of soldiers like a common whore."

Anguy shrugged. "The little lady might not see it that way," he said flippantly, chuckling at Gendry's pained expression when Arya leaned forwards suddenly to reach something, her behind hovering in the air for a second. "The girl wouldn't ever admit it Gendry, but I've seen the way she looks at you when you're not watching. She cares about you more than you think, and more than I think she realises herself."

"How'd you mean?" Gendry asked slowly, watching as she took a bite out of a crisp apple. He was suddenly reminded of a time years ago, when she threw a crab apple straight at his head for being an ass. Subconsciously he rubbed the spot, as if he could still feel it.

"I mean," Anguy said impatiently, "that she doesn't want to care about you. She wants to be able to hate you so that she can justify running off somewhere and not coming back, but the very fact that she hasn't yet tried to, proves that she cares about you."

The words hit Gendry hard, and he missed a breath. Anguy was often times a fool, but what he had said wasn't wrong; Arya hadn't yet run away. Or at least, if she had she'd come back of her own volition before she went too far. He had managed to overlook the fact that her very presence was an indicator of her feelings.

Gendry pinched the bridge of his nose. It was so hard to know what Arya was thinking, what she was feeling. Unless she chose otherwise, she was just a blank slate, empty of any sign she felt anything at all. He noticed it most when she was angry at herself, and wondered if, on those occasions, it was because she was angry at herself for not hating him. For not wanting to escape. It seemed that Arya was so eager to escape the confinements of being a lady that she had instead ensnared herself in a different trap entirely of her own making.

Gendry smiled at Anguy and pushed Rogue onward, slowing him to a walk once he had reached Arya's side. He frowned; she was wearing that face. The one that meant she was troubled but didn't want anyone to know. Like ice. The apple lay in her hand with one bite missing, and it seemed she had forgotten she even had it. Gendry could still see a glisten of juice on her lips, and wondered what it would be like to lick it off.

"I didn't mean to scare you earlier," he said suddenly, his voice low. "When I showed you the Stormlands."

She didn't look at him. "You didn't," she said, but Gendry knew it wasn't true... even if she had tried to convince herself of that.

"I did," he said bluntly. "I felt the way you stiffened. Saw your face when you were running. You were frightened."

Arya hesitated. "I wasn't... I just felt confused."

Gendry reached over and covered her hand. "I know."

She shot him an irritated look. "How could you possibly know?" she asked stiffly.

"How could I not?" He shrugged. "I know what it is to spend your life rejecting something, and then finding that it isn't what you think it is. When Jon made me a lord I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to be lord of anything, I barely knew how to use a fork-" he chuckled. "I'm still working on the fork part. But, what I did know, was that if I had to have a wife I wanted her to be you." Arya looked away, her face immediately becoming guarded again, but not before Gendry saw her eyes flash with pain. "I still don't know how to be a lord, or how to use a fork, but I do know that I love you, and you're beautiful and that none of it is worth anything if you aren't with me. So be with me."

"Gendry-" she started quietly, but he took hold of her wrist, pulling her to the side to talk.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, though I hope that one day you will," he said, looking her in the eye. "I know that, for whatever reasons, you can't say yes yet. So I'm just asking you to be with me. That's all."

Arya bit her lip, worrying it with her teeth, and Gendry remembered doing the same thing to her just hours ago. "I don't know how," she admitted quietly. "I'm just... I don't know how to be with someone. All I know is how to survive. I don't know anything else."

"And I didn't know how to run a kingdom-"

"or use a fork," she added with a small smile.

"Aye, that too," he conceded. "But I'm learning." He leaned over to press his forehead against hers, and felt her eyelashes flutter against his skin. "Learn with me, Arya."

Arya pressed her lips to his, and remained silent.

* * *

Arya supposed she ought not know what to make of the Stormlands, but she found that she didn't really feel anything. Perhaps it was because of her churning stomach, or because she had been to so many places that nothing came as a surprise anymore, but there was no sudden realisation as the band made their way through the fields and the passes.

The Stormlands were a land of harsh mountains, stony shores, and verdant forests, as Arya had seen when Gendry had taken her to the top of the hill near Fellwood. The forests were so different to home, where the silent Wolfs Wood held a sense of being ancient and undisturbed by the progression of time, full of memories and spirits, and the power of the Old Gods. Yet here the forests felt young and flourishing and alive in a much different way, as if one could feel the very trees growing around them, hear the roots sucking up moisture from the soil.

As the company moved sections of the band broke off, leaving for different areas of the Stormlands. The company had been made up majorly from the men sworn to the houses of the Stormlands, big and small, under the representatives from each house. As they passed through sections made their ways home, excited by the prospect of seeing their families and their own beds.

Arya waited on Astrid as Gendry thanked the men from house Tudbury, shaking the hand of each man. When he had finished and returned to her side, setting off again, Arya looked at him sideways. "Why exactly did all of them go all the way to Winterfell and back? Surely it was just a waste of time and expense." For all that Arya had considered it, she couldn't see an explanation- the company had been a veritable army. All the majority of them had done was ride day in day out, for no reason that Arya could see.

"It's custom that a selected proportion from each house would be sent," he explained with a shrug, though Arya had noted the slight hesitation. "I imagine that when Robert went to Winterfell he had even more than I."

"Even so," Arya asked, watching him, "why so many? If you had to take a predetermined proportion from each house sworn to you, why take such a large one? Surely we must have half of the Stormlands with us?" Gendry hesitated, and Arya narrowed her eyes. He wasn't telling her something. "Gendry?"

He sighed. "Look, I know you don't always take it seriously, but it all comes back to the threat of rebellion," he said reluctantly. "Euron has had spies following us since before Greywater, and clearly was waiting for an opportunity to attack- or else he wouldn't bother."

Arya suppressed a snort. He really brought his men all this way just in case Euron decided to attack? She wasn't stupid. "Gendry, you know as well as I that the ironborn attack coasts, and even if they did wage a pointless battle without a chance of winning it, then why would they do it while you more or less had an army assembled?"

"That's my point," Gendry explained, his tome patient, which only served to irritate her further. "If we had taken just a small company he may have seen it more of an opportunity to attack and try to-" he sighed, stopping shortly. "Look Arya, I told you that I wouldn't hide things from you. Elmar Frey may just be a fool, but Euron is not. He was always ambitious, and the new found peace isn't going to stop him from trying to get what he wants. If he has to use Frey's dubious claim to you he will... but he isn't going to strike first in a battle."

Arya licked her lips. Of course, Gendry didn't know about the message Euron had sent her, but what if Euron had sent him a message too? "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean that he can't openly strike against us, against the crown. He'd rather wait until he had you in his possession so that we'll have to strike first to get you back, and then he has plausible motivation to start a war." Gendry's tone was hard as he explained, though there was an underlying sense of caution as he explained it to her. "I couldn't give him an opportunity to do that."

Arya bit the inside of her lip as she felt a spark of irritation at his words, immediately followed by a forced calmness. He'd only done it to protect her... and he had forgiven her at the village, accepted who she was. For a moment she felt just a tiny bit guilty, because he, at least, was trying to accept her. All the same, it was still irritating.

As Gendry pulled back to thank one of the departing captains, Arya untapped her water skin. Once she had taken a few gulps she swirled the water, thinking. Euron couldn't have sent Gendry a message... could he? He had clearly meant for her to see, to understand. He knew who she was, and he was coming for her. _Winter is coming for House Greyjoy._ Those were the words she had said that night, the message she had sent to him. A promise that she would uphold. But it seemed that Euron wasn't afraid to play the game either, and the sea was coming for her. Arya nearly dropped her skin when the thought made something click in her mind. _When the crow that swims drowns_ \- that was what the Ghost of High Heart had said to her... had she been talking about Euron? The Crows Eye, that was what people called him. _The crow who swims_... the ironmen were known for their sailing. Arya inhaled shakily. Did that mean that she would next meet him on water?

The message, that was daring. Even aside from the mass slaughter, it was a bold move to make, and Arya realised that it was personal now. He truly knew who she was, but how? How could he have found out? No one knew she had been in Lorath, apart from Gendry and Jon... and Daenerys. Sansa. Aegon... Arya shook her head. None of them would have any reason to tell him, and even if they had there was no way they could have sent him a raven in time for his men to travel south to the midlands before she got there. So how did he know?

"Arya?"

She whipped around suddenly, the voice interrupting her thoughts and ripping her from her mind. It was just Anguy, his freckled face tanned in the hot glow of the morning sun. She supposed it wasn't all that hot for him, seeing as he was born in the Marches. Arya was all too aware of how the heat was affecting her. Her hair was sweaty and stuck to her neck, her skin burned pink and red; not that she cared about how she looked- simply that she was itchy and her skin was stinging uncomfortably.

"What?" she snapped, irritated by the heat and the way he had pulled her from her thoughts.

Anguy simply arched a brow and shrugged, riding up next to her, seemingly aware that she wasn't irritated with him so much as... everything. "Everything alright girl? If you think any harder your brain will explode- I had half a mind to throw water over you in case you burst into flames."

"Half a mind? Let's not go exaggerating now," she bit back unkindly, though he simply threw back his head with a bark of laughter, causing her scowl to deepen.

"I don't know what happened between you two on that hill, but whatever it was hasn't half got you in a fluster," he remarked lightly, and Arya worked to keep a blush from her cheeks.

"I don't ever get in a fluster," she snapped, annoyed with the archer. "Go bother somebody else, why don't you?"

Anguy simply rolled his eyes. "Then who else would stop you from overthinking too much?" He sighed, and nudged her knee with his as they rode side by side. "Look, little lady, it's alright to feel nervous-"

"I'm not nervous!"

"- after all, it's going to be your home for the rest of your life, and Gendry will be excited to show you his kingdom," he continued, unaware that with each word Arya's unease continued to grow. As he talked on, Arya zoned out. She had more important things to think about than some bloody castle.

She glanced sideways at Gendry, who was still speaking with one of his bannermen. Anguy could be a fool, but Arya knew he was right about Gendry wanting to show her his castle. His eyes were brighter than usual, and he seemed to be carrying himself a bit taller, his chest puffed out. She sighed; what was it with men and showing off their land? Arya didn't have a single tree to her name, not really. Winterfell belonged to her brother, and she didn't have anywhere else- such was the lot of the youngest daughter. Perhaps Gendry was partly excited because he believed he was finally offering her a home; the thought made her uneasy.

The idea that she might end up here for the rest of her life caused her to stiffen in the saddle, her shoulders locking. Gendry, whether she liked it or not, had come to mean something to her, something more than a travelling companion. She didn't want to hurt him now by leaving, but she didn't know if she could stay with him either- she didn't know how to settle down. She had never been able to, always on the move, always adopting a new identity, living anonymously. She had always assumed she wanted to get back to Winterfell, but when she finally had got there... she had felt trapped somehow. Whether it was a result of the way she had been forced to live, or if it was a part of her, Arya didn't know, but she did know that the idea of settling down in one place terrified her.

As the realisation that she wasn't ready to settle down hit her, Arya couldn't help but immediately plan an escape. It was her nature, the code she had lived by for all of her life since she was a child. Sense the danger and destroy it, or if it wasn't something she could beat, run. But how could she run from Gendry?

She had tried to forget her conversation with Jon at Kings Landing, tried to forget the uncomfortable truths that he had pulled out of her. It was a strange feeling, for her, to care about someone. Was it that weightless feeling she got when Gendry smiled at her? The warm feeling in her belly when he looked at her? The way her knees became weak when he kissed her- Arya wrinkled her nose. She didn't _do_ weak.

She tried to remember how she felt as a child, being around her family, and bit her lip at the uncomfortable realisation that she couldn't fully recall it. She wondered is it was because of who she had become, the things she had seen- the horror, the war ravaged people and the dread that comes with it, the death, dark and cold. Had it somehow shaped her into something less than human? She had heard it twice now, that the things she had seen and the things she had done had changed her fundamentally, twisting her composition and claim of being a human. The Ghost of High Heart, the House of Black and White. The Ghost had foretold it and the Faceless men taken it. Arya felt as though something cold had wound it's way around her chest, and was squeezing so tight that she couldn't breathe. How could she settle down here with Gendry after all she had done? It wasn't that Arya felt guilt for the things she had done- she had done what was necessary for her survival. People died everyday, and all she had done was quicken that process. But she wasn't so arrogant as to claim that her actions and decisions had changed her somehow, and while she felt no regret for the things she had done, neither did she feel that she could ever simply just go back to pretending none of had happened.

"Arya?"

Arya looked up. Anguy was still beside her, eyebrow raised, apparently aware that she had not been paying attention to a word he had said. Arya berated herself; she was slipping. Just another effect of allowing herself to grow too comfortable with these people, with... with Gendry. In that stability she had allowed herself to grow lax, lazy. She nipped sharply at the inside of her lip, angry with herself. This was exactly what she was afraid of- that all she had made of herself, everything she had forced herself to become, was slipping away from her the longer she stayed with him. She didn't blame him- how could she? But the change in her was evident, and she was certain that even others had begun to notice it too. Half a a year ago Arya would never have tuned out her surroundings as she thought- she would have been aware of everything, who was near her and what they were doing, the subtle body communications that hinted their next move, what weapons they had on them, who to strike first should the situation call for it, the ability to predict that very situation before it occurred. These were the things she had trained herself to do so that they were instinctual, yet here she was having no idea what had been said right in her ear.

"I was just asking how you did it?" Anguy asked, rubbing the spot behind his ear. "How you slayed the men at the village before we even arrived." He said the words casually, as if he didn't truly care, but Arya could detect it- the sense of curiosity in the underlying tones. Yet, despite the nature of the question, Anguy did not appear to be uncomfortable around her, making her bristle. This was just another sign of how she had grown too comfortable.

Arya shrugged. "It wasn't that hard," she answered blandly, hoping her tone would hint at her displeasure with the subject of their conversation.

Anguy scoffed. "Oh sure," he said, dragging out each vowel, his voice then shifting to a more serious note. "The men are asking questions, you know? About what happened. Is it not better to tell them the truth? I fear that if you allow the rumours to grow then the people will never trust you."

Arya snorted, Good. "I don't care whether people trust me or not. Let them talk. The bigger the rumour the more unbelievable it is. No one will believe a word of it by the time it gets around." It would begin with the story of a princess who was part of a battle, and then morph into a tale of a twisted monster with the ability to kill with just a look. "Why add fuel to the flames of a fire that will eventually burn out?"

Arya did not jump at Gendry's deep tones as he rode up on her other side. Out of the corner of her eye Arya saw him shoot a dark look at Anguy, though the Dornish archer successfully avoided his eye. Arya almost smiled. Gendry must have ordered his men not to speak of what happened at the village.

"Anguy, Lem needs a hand down the line," he said pointedly.

The archer shrugged. "Aye, and where was he the other day when I needed a hand with-"

"Anguy- sod off will you?" Gendry forced out through grit teeth. Anguy caught the look on the dark lord's face, and with a nod at Arya (and a brief comedic expression) turned his horse about in the pursuit of some poorly made up excuse to get him to shut up.

"Poor Anguy," Arya said with amusement, not an ounce of sympathy for the loud mouthed archer evident. "All he wanted was to protect me from slanderous rumours designed to cut the she-bitch of the North down." Her face remained straight as she spoke the words, but even Gendry caught the humour there.

He snorted. "You can't blame him, really," he shrugged. "I would be curious too if I walked into a room expecting a band of murderers and found instead a small girl surrounded by corpses."

This time it was Arya who snorted. "Would be? Don't you mean, you are?" She had yet to tell him of how she had achieved the massacre single-handed, and hoped that he did not see her words as an invitation to ask questions.

Thankfully, however, Gendry seemed to take the hint. "Of course. But I told you then that I wouldn't push, and I meant it. You'll tell me when the time is right." He took a swig from his skin, and offered her a gentle smile.

Arya couldn't help but smile a little herself. "And if the time is never right?"

Gendry gave her a blunt look, neither hard nor soft. "Then I guess it's just another secret you'll take to your grave," he shrugged after a moment. Then he smirked. "Though I have proved skilled at learning some of your secrets," he said slyly.

Arya raised a brow. "Have you? And which secrets would those be?" She asked, her voice light yet with an underlying element of caution. She hoped he was only referring to Euron, but one could never be too careful, even if subtlety was not one of Gendry's stronger points.

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He asked, pulling Rogue around in front of her suddenly, causing her to pull up her mare shortly, who stamped in frustration, ears flat against her skull.

"I think the question is _wouldn't you_!" She snapped, manoeuvring around around him, ignoring his shocked face. Later she would feel guilty that she had snapped at him with no warning, but right now Arya was too pissed off to admit it. First Anguy and now Gendry- why couldn't these stupid men just leave her be? She exhaled sharply through her nostrils as she passed him.

Gendry seemed to shake himself off pretty quick and before Arya could do a thing he had grabbed her nearest rein and tugged her still, eliciting a squeal from her steed and a glare from the rider herself. "I don't know, would I? Perhaps you're just too worried that I might know you better than you think," he japed, smugness settling itself comfortably on his face.

Two years ago Arya may have responded with filthy language or a well aimed knife, but instead she simply collected herself and lifted her chin, giving the impression that she was talking down to him as she spoke. "If you truly think that, milord, then you don't know me at all," she said icily, before tugging her rein away from him and making to brush past him.

She had hoped that her words would simply be sufficient to warn him that she was reaching her limit with patience for the morning, but it appeared instead that it was Gendry who had reached the end of his tether.

Arya was forced to pull up short again when he spurred the black stallion around in front of Astrid harshly, his glare as dark as his mount. "You know what?" He asked coldly, fixing her with a chilling gaze. "Maybe I will go and help Anguy and Lem after all. Milady." With that he pushed past her and cantered down the line of weary men, leaving Arya alone at the front.

She glared at his leather clad back in anger as he went, fury coursing roughly through her body, ebbing dangerously close to the surface. _Stupid bull_! Acting as if he knew the smallest thing about her, when he didn't. She was a widely feared assassin, for fucks sake- she could fucking kill him if she wanted to. She didn't even have to be here for him, she could have ridden off moons ago, before they even reached the Neck.

 _I wish I had,_ she thought nastily. _I should have waited until nightfall and ridden for- for.._. well, that had been the problem, really, hadn't it? She didn't have anywhere to go. She couldn't go the Winterfell. Maybe she could have made it back to the Wall, but she wasn't stupid. If that had really been what she wanted she would have done it, and no matter how many sentries Gendry had posted to guard her they wouldn't have been able to stop her.

 _So why don't you now?_

Arya frowned. She wouldn't deny that the thought of galloping off in the night didn't have it's attractions. She could leave so easily, take another face, live as someone, anyone, but Arya Stark. No good ever came of her name, and it never would. She had known that as an eleven year old travelling with Yoren, so why had she forgotten that now?

 _Because you are Arya Stark,_ said the voice. _No matter how many faces you don, no matter how many names you steal, you will always be the daughter of Eddard Stark, and that means you have things to do, loose ends to tie up._

 _Why not just cut them?_ Arya thought savagely. _Sever them all and then never worry about them again._

But she knew why, of course, because what happens when you cut loose thread? It frays, and tangles, and the mess only gets worse, and Arya Stark was not one to leave messes in her footprints...

...except for maybe the one she had just exhibited in front of Gendry. Arya sighed. She was an idiot. _Why did she do that?_ He hadn't truly said anything to irritate her- not really. He just had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, really. She narrowed her eyes, frustrated with herself.

"Milady, is everything-"

"I'm fine," Arya replied stiffly, before Jayce could finish his question.

He looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she replied through clenched teeth.

"Because if you aren't, I can-"

"Just fuck off for once, will you?" Arya snapped at the boy. He gazed at her with wide eyes, and Arya sagged and looked away to rub at her eyes roughly with dusty fingers. "Look, Jayce, I didn't mean to snap at you, alright?"

"It's alright," he said carefully, though she noticed that he still cringed away from her slightly. Great. Another fucking mess to sort out later.

Arya sighed, and then swung off of Astrid, handing the reins to her squire. "I need to stretch my legs. Keep an eye on her, will you?" She didn't bother to wait until she finished before she had shoved the reins into the boy's hands and strode off into the small copse of trees.

* * *

 **o.O :O oh dear... they just can't seem to keep it together, can they? Anyway, that's all for this chapter, the next one is written and more or less ready to go! *In an overly cheery youtuber voice* I hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you did please leave a review and let me know what you think!***

 **That's all, hope you liked, over and out! xox**


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